


Buried Years

by sahiya



Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Holidays, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad Bingo 2019, Legos, Loss of Parent(s), Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sick Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Sick Peter, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Therapy, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Lives, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, do not copy to another site, ear infections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Making sure that Morgan Stark felt protected and safe and loved was the most important thing Peter had ever done. It was even more important than Spiderman. It was also, he came to realize, way,wayharder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has taken forever. It was being unusually recalcitrant, but also 1) work has kicked into high gear, 2) I've been traveling, and 3) I'm a politics junkie and the world has been _endlessly_ distracting. But I've got it like 75% drafted at this point, so I feel comfortable putting up the first chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading and encouraging. This is for the "protective Peter" square on my Bingo card. It takes place in the same universe as "Home from Sea," in which Pepper did the snap and died.
> 
> Title is from [From Sunset to Star Rise](http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/christina_rossetti/poems/16477) by Christina Rossetti.

Peter knew that most people would say that he’d been unlucky in his life. He’d lost both his parents by the time he was five, and his uncle at fourteen. That was a lot of loss for someone his age. 

But Peter knew something they didn’t, which was that he’d been lucky just as much as he’d been unlucky. Even though he’d lost a lot more than most kids his age, he’d also been so loved, by so many people. His parents loved him, Ben and May loved him, Tony loved him. And none of that love went away just because some of the people who loved him weren’t there anymore. 

From the moment Morgan Stark showed Peter the picture she’d drawn of her family with him in it, he’d been determined that she’d feel the same way. She’d lost her mom, but Peter was going to make sure she never doubted she was loved. 

It’d felt like an easy thing to do in the days after Pepper’s funeral. It’d felt like the _only_ thing he could do––for Morgan, for Tony, for Pepper, for himself. May had asked him over and over again if he was sure, and Peter had told her he was. Months later, he was still sure. He might’ve been even more sure. 

Making sure that Morgan Stark felt protected and safe and loved was the most important thing Peter had ever done. It was even more important than Spiderman. It was also, he came to realize, way, _way_ harder. 

***

Tony was having a bad day. Peter knew that as soon as he woke up and FRIDAY told him that Tony had gotten up at four in the morning and gone out to the garage.

Bad days for Tony tended to be bad days for Morgan, too. It never went over well when she woke up and he wasn’t there. And Peter had the feeling that was going to be doubly true today, because she’d been sick the last few days, first with a sore throat and then with an ear infection. Peter wasn’t sure he could do anything to make the bad day better, but he had to try. 

He made coffee and took it out to Tony, along with a granola bar. The morning air was crisp, promising colder mornings just around the corner. It had been late spring when Peter and the others had come back, and Pepper had died to save the universe. Now it was fall and the leaves were starting to turn around the lake. 

Summer had been long and hard. Peter hoped they might be starting to turn a corner, but he knew that grief didn’t follow any kind of timeline, and sometimes you took one step forward only to take two back again. 

He found Tony sitting on the sofa in the garage, holding the Rescue helmet in his hands. Pepper hadn’t been wearing it when she’d died, and it was the only part of her suit that had survived the snap. There were other signs he’d been working––holograms of Sam’s new wings, a disassembled pair of web shooters––but at the moment he was just sitting. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. 

“Hey,” Peter said, sitting beside him. 

“Hey,” Tony replied, voice hoarse. He accepted the coffee Peter offered him. 

“One to ten,” Peter prompted. 

Tony didn’t look at him. “Seven.”

Peter managed not to wince. The one-through-ten scale of grief was something he and May had used after Ben had died. It made it easier to communicate, when one of them was having a really bad day, just _how_ bad it was. 

Tony had a hard time talking about how he was feeling, but he could usually give Peter a number. One through three, they could pretty much get through the day; four and five meant a family cuddle puddle and movie marathon; and six and seven meant Tony spent the day in the workshop, because he didn’t want Morgan to see how bad it was. Higher than that, and Tony was basically refusing to get out of bed, and Peter was forcing smoothies down his throat and threatening to call in Bruce and Rhodey. They hadn’t had one of those days in a while, and he hoped––prayed––that they were behind them. 

Peter tried to decide how much to push. May thought he was being too soft on Tony, letting him shirk his responsibilities because he knew Peter would pick up the slack. But it was hard to push when Peter could almost feel for himself just how much Tony was hurting. “I’ll look after Morgan this morning,” Peter finally said. “Maybe you could come up to the house for lunch?”

Tony nodded, though he still wouldn’t look at Peter. After a moment, Peter got up. He leaned over and hugged Tony. “We love you,” he said, on his and Morgan’s behalf. “Let FRIDAY know if you need me.”

Tony looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Kiss Morgan for me. Tell her... tell her I’m sorry.”

“Hey, apologizing too much for things that aren’t my fault is my thing,” Peter told him. “Stop stealing my signature move.”

Tony gave him a ghost of a smile. Peter sighed to himself and headed back up to the house. 

Morgan was awake when he went upstairs, but she hadn’t gotten up yet. She was lying in her bed, clutching a much-loved stuffed dog named Spot in her arms. “Hey, bugaboo,” Peter said as he poked his head in. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not so good.” Her voice sounded scratchy. “My ears hurt.”

Peter sat on her bed. “I’m sorry.” 

She sniffled. “FRIDAY said you were in the garage. Is Daddy sick again?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, reaching out to smooth the hair off her forehead. She’d been running a fever the night before, and she still felt warm. “Dad’s not feeling so great, either. But he promised he’d come in at lunch, so you and I will hang out this morning.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Why doesn’t Daddy want to see me when he’s sick?”

“Sometimes, when people aren’t feeling well, they want to be alone.”

“I don’t.”

“Me neither,” Peter said. “But Dad does.”

Her eyes were swimming with tears. “I m-miss him. And I miss M-Mommy. And my ears h-hurt.”

“Oh bugaboo, I know,” Peter said helplessly, as she started crying. It was getting harder and harder to explain Tony’s absences. She knew he wasn’t sick the way she was sick when her ears hurt; she knew that he was really sad because Pepper was gone, and that sometimes he was so sad that it was like he was sick from it, and when that happened sometimes he disappeared. But Peter could see that this was starting to take a serious toll on her. 

If Peter was honest, it was starting to take a toll on him, too. 

Once Morgan started crying, she couldn’t seem to stop. She wasn’t especially noisy about it, but if anything, that was worse. She wasn’t crying like she expected anyone to be able to help her, and it broke Peter’s heart. He gathered her up––Spot the dog, Moana comforter, and all––and trudged downstairs to the living room. He lay her down in the recliner, which swallowed her whole, then started gathering all the couch cushions and blankets he could find. 

After a couple minutes of this, Morgan sniffled and asked, “Whatcha doing?”

“Making a fort. Haven’t you ever made a pillow fort?”

“No.” Her voice was still scratchy, but she sounded curious now. Peter kept arranging pillows and blankets, creating a space inside big enough for both of them. Morgan still sniffled periodically, but she was watching Peter and not actively crying. It was the best Peter thought he could hope for. 

“Done,” Peter declared. He grabbed his tablet. “Come on, Mo-Mo. Inside.”

She scuttled in and he crawled in after her. He’d left an opening for light and air, but it was pretty dim inside. Morgan had already curled up around a pillow, with Spot in her arms. Peter lay down and she tucked herself under his chin. 

He rubbed her back. “What movie do you want to watch?”

“_Toy Story_.”

Peter pulled it up on the tablet and propped it up against a pillow. Then he lay down, head resting on the same pillow Morgan’s was, to watch the movie. 

Morgan lasted about half the movie before she fell asleep again. Peter finished it, because _Toy Story_ was one of his own comfort watches, and he felt in need of some comfort right then. By the end, he was feeling drowsy, too, but he had a chapter in biology to read and a problem set for calc to work on. Midtown was being extremely accommodating, under the circumstances, but he and May had agreed that this entire arrangement was contingent upon him keeping up. 

It was pretty warm inside the pillow fort, so he took down the canopy, leaving him and Morgan in a nest of blankets and pillows that was almost as cozy. He read through his bio homework with a yellow highlighter and did the quiz his instructor had sent him, then started on the math. 

He’d finished two problems and had two left to go when the StarkWatch on his wrist buzzed. “What’s up, FRI?” he asked, checking his second answer against the back of the book. 

“Morgan’s temperature is over a hundred and two,” FRIDAY said. “Should I ask Mr. Stark to come in?”

Peter hesitated, glancing at the time in the corner of his tablet. It was eleven. Tony should be in soon, and a hundred and two wasn’t an emergency, even if it was higher than Peter wanted it to be. He could handle this. Tony had promised he’d come in for lunch. Peter and Morgan would be okay until then. 

“Don’t bother Tony. Should I wake her up and get some medicine in her?”

“That would be advisable. A warm compress for her ears is also indicated.”

“Okay.” Peter shoved the blankets back and went to get the Children’s Tylenol from the bathroom. He came back to find Morgan moving sluggishly in the blankets, like she was trying to wake up but couldn’t. He sat down next to her and gently shook her shoulder. “Morgan, baby, I need you to wake up and take some medicine, all right?”

Morgan blinked herself awake. She stared up at Peter for a second, looking utterly disoriented, and then her face crumpled. She started sobbing disconsolately. 

“Oh, sweetie, I know it hurts,” Peter said desperately. “That’s why I need you to take some medicine, and then I’ll put a warm cloth over your ears. I promise you’ll feel better.”

She shook her head, continuing to sob. Peter held her, rubbing her back and shushing her, and wondered if he should call Tony after all. But her muffled wail of, _Mama_, pressed into Peter’s chest, stopped him. 

It would gut Tony to hear Morgan cry for Pepper like this. And maybe there was no avoiding it, but if he could get Morgan to calm down before Tony came in, they might put it off a little longer, until a day that was a two or a three, not a seven. 

It felt like it took forever. Peter held her and rocked back and forth, stroking her hair and trying not to let on how increasingly desperate he felt. Finally, _finally_, Morgan calmed enough that Peter was able to get the medicine in her. The pain must have been pretty bad, because she crunched up the chewable tablets––which she usually despised––with barely a whine. He couldn’t possibly get up to get the warm compress for her ear, but he cradled her in his lap, murmuring to her soothingly, as her hitching breaths slowed. 

“FRIDAY, temperature check,” Peter asked. His own voice was hoarse, as though he was the one who’d been crying. And if he _had_ cried a little, then who could blame him? There was nothing about this situation that wasn’t heart-breaking. 

“102.4.”

That wasn’t any lower than it had been. Peter checked the clock. Even though it felt like forever, it’d really only been about thirty minutes. Maybe the medicine needed a little more time to work. He knew he was supposed to put a warm cloth on her ears, but he should use a cold cloth to try and curb her fever. Which should he start with? Was one more important than the other?

He could feel himself starting to spiral. Morgan was a limp, overly warm weight in his lap, so he picked her up, holding her solidly against his shoulder, and took her down the hall to the bathroom. He laid her on the floor in front of the toilet, wet a washcloth in the sink with cold water, and used it to wipe her face, then started wiping down her arms and legs with it, too. She didn’t protest, not even a little, which might’ve been the most alarming thing of all. 

“Talk to me, Mo-Mo,” he said, moving to wet a different cloth with warm water. “How’re you doing?”

She sniffled. “Hurts.”

“I know your ears hurt, I’m getting to them. I wanted to try and bring your fever down first.”

“No,” she said. “I’m _sad_.”

Peter sat down next to her, warm cloth in his hand. “Because Dad isn’t here?”

She shook her head, looking frustrated. “I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?” Peter asked, guiding her head down to rest against his knee, careful not to put any pressure on either ear. He smoothed her hair back and pressed the warm compress over her right ear.

“No. It was a good dream. Mommy was there.” Her breath hitched again. 

“Oh baby,” Peter murmured. “I’ve had those dreams. It’s nice to spend time with them for a while. But then you wake up and remember.”

She sniffled. “Yeah. And... and Daddy isn’t _here_. He’s never here.”

“I know, Mo-Mo. He wants to be. He really, really wants to be.” Her only response was another hitching breath. Peter sighed. “Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

She shrugged. “Mommy was there. She even smelled like her. She hugged me and said she was proud of me and––and told me to listen to you. I told her Daddy was sick again, and she looked really sad. She told me she loved us. And then I woke up.”

“That sounds like a really good dream,” Peter said. “I used to have dreams about my uncle that were like that, especially before I met your dad.”

Morgan twisted around to look up at him. Her huge brown eyes were red, her face completely tear-streaked. “Do you think it was real? My dream?”

Peter hesitated briefly, before deciding that this was definitely _not_ the moment to debate the existence of an afterlife with a four-year-old. It didn’t matter whether it was real or not; it was real _to her_. She’d needed Pepper, so she’d dreamed of Pepper. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I think it’s real.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

She went quiet as Peter held the warm compress to her right ear, then prodded her into turning over so he could press a fresh one to her left ear. It helped, or else the Tylenol finally kicked in, because she seemed less distressed. At Peter’s next temperature check, it was 101.9. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Hey, baby, how’re you feeling?” he asked, removing the compress from her ear. 

“Better,” she mumbled. 

“Good. You hungry? We didn’t have breakfast and it’s almost time for lunch.”

She shrugged listlessly.

“How about a smoothie? I bet it’ll feel good on your throat.”

She perked up. “And a juice pop? That’d feel really good. Nice and cold.”

“Sure,” Peter said. He was too tired to argue, and Morgan needed to eat _something_. “A smoothie and a juice pop, coming right up.”

He carried her downstairs and set her on the counter with her juice pop while he got the blender out. She wanted strawberries and blueberries and bananas, and Peter added yogurt and orange juice and a little spinach. As long as the smoothie itself wasn’t green, she didn’t care. He blended it all up and poured it into an Elsa cup with a purple metal straw. 

“Good?” he asked, and she nodded, already looking a little better. “Awesome.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Love you, bugaboo.”

“Love you, too, Petey,” she said, and gave him a very cold and kind of sticky kiss on the cheek.

Peter started making sandwiches for himself and Tony. It was after noon, and he was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to go out and drag Tony in. He didn’t usually have to, but once in a while it was bad enough that he did. 

But not today. Tony walked in just as Peter was dishing out some applesauce for Morgan, whose appetite seemed to have been awakened by the smoothie. His face was drawn and pale, and there was a wrinkle between his brows that made Peter suspect he had a headache. But he was there, and that was what mattered most. 

“Daddy!” Morgan said excitedly when she saw him. 

“Hi baby,” he replied, giving her a hug. He squeezed Peter’s shoulder in passing. 

“Are you feeling better?” Morgan asked. “My ears were hurting lots, but Peter put a hot washcloth on them and now they feel better.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Tony said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help. I’m feeling a little better now.”

Morgan looked up at him from her perch on the kitchen counter. Peter watched her realize that Tony was lying. She threw her arms around him, almost tumbling off the counter and forcing him to catch her. “It’s okay,” Peter heard her whisper. “Mommy loves us. She told me so.”

Tony froze. “What do you mean?”

“In my dream. She told me she loves us. I think she’s sad that we’re sad.”

Tony drew a shuddering breath. He was about two seconds away from losing it, Peter could tell, but Morgan had all her limbs wrapped around him, and Peter didn’t know how to intervene. “Did she say anything else?” Tony asked in a rough, thin voice.

Morgan frowned. “She said she was proud of me. And I should listen to Peter. Do you think it was real? Peter said it was real.”

Peter bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t overstepped. But Tony just said, “Yes, sweetie, I think it was real. Your mom loves you very much, and I’m really glad she paid you a visit, especially when you weren’t feeling well.” He put Morgan down on the ground. “Can you go and eat your applesauce in the living room? I’ll be right in.” 

Tony held on until Morgan had gone, and then he turned and braced himself against the counter, head hanging down. His back was heaving as he tried to breathe, but Peter could tell he wasn’t getting any air. 

Peter put his hand on Tony’s back. “In, hold, and out. Come on, Tony, you can do this. In, hold, and out.” Tony nodded, wordlessly, dragged in a breath, held it for a second or two, and then let it go. There were tears on his face. 

It was the sort of thing Peter would’ve never imagined six months ago, back before the Snap, before Morgan existed, before Pepper had given her life for the universe and Peter had promised he’d repay some of the debt that was owed to her. He’d never have thought that he’d be helping Tony through a panic attack, rubbing circles on his back and coaching him through breathing exercises. 

It was scary, Peter had to admit to himself. He liked feeling useful, but he wasn’t used to feeling like there were people _depending_ on him as thoroughly as Tony and Morgan did. Sometimes he liked it, and sometimes all he could do was wonder whether he was fucking it up, or how he would know if he was. Most of the time, he just focused on the next thing he had to do. 

Right now, it was getting Tony through his panic attack. It felt like it took forever, but Peter knew from watching the clock in the microwave that it was only a few minutes. Finally, Tony straightened and dragged a hand over his face, leaning against the counter. Peter handed him a glass of water, and he took it gratefully. 

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” Tony said, once he’d drained half the glass in one go. “I just––I didn't expect that.”

“I know,” Peter said. “It’s okay.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know what to tell her. But I thought... it doesn’t hurt her to believe it was real.”

“No, it doesn’t. You did the right thing.” Tony sighed. He was staring at the wood grain of the kitchen floor. “You want to know the worst part?” he asked, without looking at Peter. “The worst part is... I’m jealous. I would give my right arm for a dream about Pepper where she told me she loved me. All I get are nightmares about... about her dying. Damn near every time I close my eyes, I see it. I’m afraid to sleep at this point.”

No wonder he looked so hollowed out. Peter had known about the insomnia, but Tony hadn’t said anything about nightmares so far. It wasn’t surprising, but Peter still hadn’t known. There were still things that Tony was protecting him from. And there were more than a few things that Peter was protecting Tony from at this point.

“Do you think...” Peter hesitated. “I know we’ve talked about finding Morgan a therapist, and I think we should. But have you thought that maybe you should, too?”

Tony gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Probably.” He glanced at Peter and his gaze sharpened. “What about you, Pete?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s been kind of a crappy day, and I’m tired, but I’m fine. I’m still right where I want to be.”

“Thank God for that,” Tony said with a sigh. “We should find someone for Morgan at least. Probably should’ve done it weeks ago, but I guess I needed the push. Maybe Sam can recommend someone?”

Peter nodded, relieved. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks.” Tony reached out and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. Peter was startled for a few seconds, but then he leaned into it, laying his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I hate how hard this is on you,” Tony murmured, “but I couldn’t do it without you. You’re my rock, Peter. You really are.”

Peter’s throat grew tight. “I don’t mind that it’s hard.”

Tony drew away from him and looked him in the eye. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I will. But it won’t be.”

Tony kissed him on the forehead and let him go. “All right. So.” He took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “What now?”

“Now, you and I eat our sandwiches,” Peter said. “And then, since we’re all pretty under the weather today, we build pillow fort 2.0 in the living room and watch funny movies all afternoon. And you’re going to take a nap, because those rings around your eyes are so dark, you’re starting to look like a raccoon.” Hopefully, with Morgan and Peter right there, Tony would sleep a little easier.

Tony gave him a tiny smile. “I guess I have to do what you say. Pepper said so.”

Peter smiled, but he felt obliged to point out, “Well, she really only told Morgan that she had to listen to me.”

“Pretty sure she’d tell me the same thing,” Tony said, smile twisting. He started to turn away, but Peter reached out and stopped him. 

“She’d also tell you she loved you, and that she was proud of you,” Peter said, squeezing Tony’s arm. 

Tony’s smile vanished altogether. He looked away. “I wish I could believe that.”

“Tony...”

“If it were her––if she’d survived and I’d died...” Tony looked at him. “Do you think she’d be hiding in the workshop when Morgan was sick? Letting you handle things because she could barely make herself get up and get dressed most days?” He shook his head. “She’d be so much better at this than I am.”

It was perilously close to the thing Peter had never heard Tony say. The thing he’d alluded to a time or two, but never actually said aloud. 

_I wish it had been me._

Selfishly, Peter couldn’t help being grateful that it hadn’t been. This was hard, but he could only imagine how difficult living in a world without Tony would have been. He was glad that Tony was alive. But he knew, even if they didn’t talk about it, that Tony himself wasn’t always. 

Peter took too long to try and figure out what to say. Tony pulled away. He got his sandwich and went into the living room to join Morgan on the sofa. Peter reached for his phone. 

_Need a recommendation for a therapist for Morgan_, he wrote to Sam. _And maybe one for Tony, too, I’m not sure._

The reply came swiftly. _About damn time. I’ll get you some names._ And then, a few seconds later, _You sure you don’t want a third one? You’re doing some heavy-lifting there, kid._

Peter hesitated. In the living room, he could see Tony and Morgan buried in the nest of blankets and cushions. It should have been a sweet, cozy scene, but Peter could see that Tony was holding Morgan just a little too tight, that his eyes were red and his face drawn. He could see that Morgan kept glancing up at him, worried in a way no kid her age should be. 

_I’m fine_, Peter finally wrote back. _Thx for asking._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading!
> 
> This continues to be a very slow story, but I'm hoping to post a chapter every weekend. We're at six chapters now, you can see.

Peter woke to the sound of Morgan crying. 

Even half-asleep, it was unmistakable to him. He rolled toward the sound and forced his eyes open. “Mo-Mo, you okay?” She shook her head. Peter patted the edge of the bed and she crawled up onto it. “Bad dream?” 

“No. My ear hurts,” she sniffled, pawing at it. “And I went to wake Daddy up first, like you said, but he’s not there. And it _hurts_.”

Peter’s heart sank. Another ear infection was the last thing they needed. She’d had three since the one in September, and it was only the beginning of November. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Peter said, trying not to sound as though he was about to burst into tears with her from frustration and exhaustion. “You did the right thing. Come on up, lie down here. I’ll get you a warm towel and some Tylenol. You got Spot?” She nodded, holding up her stuffed dog. “Good. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her on the forehead and climbed out of bed. 

He pulled the door to the bathroom mostly shut behind him and leaned against the sink. “FRIDAY, where’s Tony?”

“Boss is in the garage.”

It was 2:38 in the morning. Tony had sworn he’d stay in the house all night, because Peter hadn’t had a full night’s sleep all week, and he was starting to lose it. 

“Peter?” FRIDAY prompted after a moment. “Do you want me to ask him to come into the house?”

Peter knew he should. But in some ways, having Tony there was harder than handling it himself. “No,” Peter finally said. “But if he asks, tell him we’re up, and Morgan has another ear infection. What’s her temperature?”

“101.3.”

Peter grimaced. “Peter?” Morgan called plaintively. 

“Coming, Morgan,” he replied, and forced himself to move. 

The plastic bowl he’d used the last time she’d had an ear infection was still on the edge of the sink. Peter filled it with hot water, and put a washcloth in to soak while he dug the children’s Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet. 

She made a terrible face as she chewed the tablets, but she didn’t argue about taking them. Peter let her have a few sips from the bottle of Gatorade he’d taken to bed with him, and then made her lie down on her side, propped up on pillows, so he could lay the wrung-out warm washcloth over her ear. “Twenty minutes, FRIDAY,” he said, and lay down beside her. “Is that better, Mo?”

“Yeah,” she said, sniffling. “I wish Mommy was here.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “I do, too.” 

She let out a quiet sob, and Peter tightened his arm around her, pulling her against his chest. This was why he hadn’t asked FRIDAY to call Tony in for him. Peter only had the bandwidth to comfort one of them at a time, and Morgan needed him more right now. 

The first time Tony had heard Morgan cry for Pepper, while she was in the throes of ear infection #2, it had gutted him, just as Peter had predicted. He’d had to leave the room, and Peter had been left holding Morgan, who had been even more upset because Tony had left. It’d taken him almost an hour to calm her down, and then, once she’d finally gone to sleep, he’d had to look after Tony. By the end of it, he’d had nothing left in the tank for himself and no one to hold _him_ while he cried himself to sleep. 

He’d wanted more than anything to call May then. He’d wanted to hear her voice, and to hear her tell him that he was doing well, that it was okay, that it would get better. But he hadn’t, because he’d known that she would want to try and talk him into coming back to the city. He couldn’t hear her tell him that this wasn’t his responsibility, that it was too much to ask of him. She didn’t seem to understand that no one was asking it of him, but he had to do it anyway.

He still didn’t understand why she didn’t get that it was exactly what she and Ben had done for him. 

Morgan cried for the first ten minutes Peter held a warm compress to her ear. Peter rubbed her back and did his best not to cry with her. She quieted slowly, going from sobbing to sniffling and finally to deep, even breaths. By the time he took the compress off her ear, she was asleep. 

Peter slumped, face in his hands, and finally let a few tears leak out. He was tired. He was _so_ tired. But he was also wide awake. With Morgan next to him, he couldn’t risk watching TV or videos on his phone for fear the brightness of the screen would wake her, but his bedside lamp was dim enough. He turned it on and picked up _Catcher in the Rye_, which he was reading for his English class. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, someone was moving the book off his chest and reaching over to turn the light off. Peter stirred. “Tony?”

“Yeah, Pete, it’s me.”

“Mmm. Time is it?” The room was more gray than black, like the sun might be almost up. 

“About six.” Tony sat down on the edge of the bed. Peter watched him take in the bowl of room temp water, the cloth on Morgan’s forehead, the Children’s Tylenol on the nightstand. “I’m so sorry, kid. I know I said I’d stay in the house, but I couldn’t sleep. She was out like a light––I thought it was safe.”

Peter sighed. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Tony looked away. “I’m fucking this up. If you weren’t here...” He stopped with an abrupt shake of his head. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, Tony _had_ promised, and Peter couldn’t say he wasn’t kind of mad that he’d broken his promise so easily. On the other hand, though, he got it. He knew the nights were when Tony missed Pepper the most, and he knew that spending time in the garage, obsessively building things that would keep the people he loved safe, was the only thing that made his head go quiet. Peter had felt like that about going out as Spiderman after Ben died. 

Tony pressed the backs of his fingers to Morgan’s forehead. “She’s still really warm. FRIDAY?”

“101.5, boss. Only a slight increase from earlier.”

Tony nodded. “I’m going to move her into her own bed. I’ll stay with her, Pete. You get some rest.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, far too tired to even think about arguing. Tony scooped Morgan up and gently carried her out of the room. Peter rolled over and went back to sleep. 

The next time he woke, it was because his phone was going off. He groaned and fumbled for it on the nightstand, hoping he hadn’t missed a check-in with one of his teachers. It was after ten and he had three missed calls. All from Morgan’s therapist.

Peter swore and started scrambling out of bed, even while he pressed the button to call her back. “Clarissa?”

“Good morning, Peter. Is everything all right? I knocked, but no one answered.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m on my way down,” Peter said, throwing a sweatshirt on over his pajamas. He took the stairs at a run and opened the front door. Clarissa was sitting in her car, since November was not porch weather even for born-and-bred upstate New Yorkers. She got out and trudged up to the house. Peter made a mental note to salt the steps later; it hadn’t snowed yet this year, but it was icy this morning. 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said again as Clarissa came inside and started removing her coat. “We had a really rough night. Morgan’s not even up yet. She has another ear infection.”

“It’s okay, Peter,” Clarissa said gently. “These things happen. If Morgan isn’t up for her session today, we can reschedule.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Let me go see if she’s up for it. Um... make yourself at home?”

Clarissa smiled at him. “Can I start the coffee?” 

“Yes, please start the coffee,” Peter said gratefully, and ran back upstairs. 

Morgan wasn’t in her room. Peter checked Tony’s next and found the two of them passed out in the bed together. Morgan was curled up with her head on Tony’s shoulder. They were both sound asleep. 

Peter couldn’t bring himself to wake them. They looked so cozy and peaceful. Tony’s insomnia was as bad as it had ever been, and if anything, Morgan’s sleep issues had gotten _worse_ since she’d started therapy. Clarissa said that wasn’t unusual and it would get better, but in the meantime, it was wearing them all out. 

Peter closed the door and went back downstairs. Clarissa was in the kitchen, watching Tony’s high tech coffee maker burble away. “I’m sorry, she and Tony are both sleeping,” he said. “Can we reschedule?”

“Of course,” Clarissa replied. “But since I’m here, I was hoping you and I might have a chat. Is that all right?”

“Um, sure, I guess.” Peter went to get cream and sugar out of the fridge. They both doctored their cups and sat down together at the kitchen table. “So... what did you want to talk to me about? Is everything okay with Morgan?”

“All things considered, Morgan is doing remarkably well,” Clarissa said, and Peter sighed silently in relief. “Losing a parent at such a young age is traumatic, but I think she feels safe and supported, especially by you.”

“I’m trying,” Peter said. “I lost both my parents when I wasn’t much older than her, so I guess... I get it, kind of. Even if I don’t really remember it.”

“She told me that––that you’d lost both your parents.”

“And my uncle.” Peter tightened his grip on his coffee mug. 

She took a sip of coffee. “You’re very resilient, given all you’ve been through. And you are very brave to take this on. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy.”

“No, but...” Peter swallowed. “I was snapped. And when I came back, the world was totally different. _My_ world was totally different. I needed some time to adjust, and Tony and Morgan needed help.”

“Do you think you are adjusting?” 

Peter hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why the third degree? What exactly is this?”

She held her hands out. “Just a conversation, Peter. I’m a little worried about you, based on things Morgan has said.”

“Morgan doesn’t know everything.” 

“Children understand more than we think they do, especially sensitive and perceptive children like Morgan,” Clarissa said gently. “She sees that you’re trying to take care of her and Tony, and that you’re struggling.”

Peter sighed. “I’m tired, that’s all. Morgan’s not sleeping well, so I’m not sleeping well.”

Clarissa hummed thoughtfully “What about self-care during your waking hours?”

Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you do things that are just for yourself? Or is everything you do about either Tony or Morgan?”

Peter opened his mouth, closed it. “I do homework.”

Clarissa shook her head, smiling at him. “That definitely doesn’t count as self-care. It’s important that you look after yourself. When was the last time you got down to the city to see your aunt?”

Peter shrugged, glancing away. “It’s been a while.”

“Why?” 

“Because it has been,” Peter said, exasperated.

Clarissa raised an eyebrow. 

Peter flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s a lot, okay? Morgan has nightmares and wakes me up every night. Tony barely sleeps, and he spends all his time in the garage. I’m afraid it’s going to give Morgan abandonment issues, and I know how much those suck, because _I_ have them. And yeah, I’d really like to be able to talk to May about all of this, but I can’t, because every time I do she tries to convince me that this isn’t my job.”

Clarissa nodded. “What makes you think it is your job?”

“It’s not––‘job’ isn’t the right word. That’s just what May always calls it. Something awful happened to Tony and Morgan. I want to be there for them. That’s not––it’s not wrong.” Peter tried not to let his voice go up at the end, like he was asking a question, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded in sounding as certain as he wanted.

“Of course not,” Clarissa assured him. “I would never say that it is.”

“So why do I feel like you’re trying to tell me something?” he asked, frowning at her. 

Clarissa paused thoughtfully, turning her coffee clockwise in her hands. “I’m not trying to tell you anything,” she finally said. “I wanted to make sure that someone was checking in with you, because it seemed to me like you were worrying an awful lot about Tony and Morgan and possibly not taking care of yourself. I’m _not_ trying to change your mind about doing this or telling you that you’re doing it wrong.”

Peter relaxed. “Okay.”

“So, what are some things you like to do?” Clarissa asked. “What are some things that bring you joy?”

Peter bit his lip. Clarissa had signed an NDA, and they’d already told her that Peter was Spiderman; Morgan knew and asking her to lie to her therapist had seemed both impossible and like it defeated the purpose of therapy. It was just weird to imagine talking to someone he didn’t know very well about it. But he supposed he might as well. “I used to love being Spiderman. I liked helping people and I––I really loved webswinging. I don’t get to do that much here. Trees aren’t as good as buildings for it.”

Clarissa hummed. “What else?”

“I like fixing stuff. Computers or engines, whatever I can find. Tony and I were working on a car engine together when I got snapped. And he built my suit, but he was teaching me how to repair it and how to make upgrades and stuff.”

She nodded. “Are you getting to do much of that?” 

“Not really,” he admitted. “The garage is kind of... it’s Tony’s space. It’s where he goes when he needs to be alone. And it’s kind of hard for the two of us to be out there, because someone has to watch Morgan, and the garage isn’t exactly kid-proof.”

“I get the impression that Morgan used to spend time with her dad there,” Clarissa said. “But not recently. What else?”

“Um. I like movies? Mostly science fiction. And––and Legos,” Peter added, feeling his ears flush. “My friend Ned and I used to build stuff. We were working on the Millennium Falcon when we both got snapped. I used to really like them because they kind of made my brain shut up.”

“Is that something you could do here?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess so. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Clarissa smiled. Why don’t you see about ordering yourself some Legos? That’s also something you and Morgan––and Tony, even––could do together that’s creative and stimulating.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said, starting to warm to the idea. “Okay. I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. And if it’s not overstepping for me to say... perhaps you should call your aunt a little more.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. I should. I just... I don’t like it when she criticizes Tony. I get that she lost Ben, and she had to worry about a lot more than he does––she had to worry about paying the rent and buying groceries and keeping me in clothes and school supplies and all of that––but she wasn’t... she wasn’t there when Pepper died. She didn’t see it happen.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, I did.” Peter swallowed. He tried not to think about Pepper’s last moments too often, but he couldn’t help it just then. “It was... it was really bad. I was, um. I was there when my uncle died, and I know how badly that... how much that messed me up.” Peter had to stop and take a deep breath. His hands had started shaking a little, and he put them flat on the table. “Tony’s dealing with a lot, and he’s doing his best. I don’t like it when May implies that he’s not.”

“Do you think she’d listen to you if you set that boundary? Would she agree to declare Tony off limits if it meant that you called her every other day?”

“Maybe,” Peter said. “I don’t know. I guess I can try. It would be nice to talk to her more.”

Clarissa nodded, smiling. “Give it a shot.”

“I will.” Peter realized his mug was empty, then glanced at the clock and realized more time had passed than he’d realized. “Guess I kind of just stole Morgan’s session.”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing,” Clarissa said, getting up to put her mug in the sink. “Do you think this was helpful?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I do. Thanks.”

Clarissa turned and leaned against the counter. “Would you like us to do it again? There’s no reason I can’t meet with both you and Morgan when I come.”

“Oh. Um. I don’t know. What would we talk about?”

Clarissa shrugged. “Whatever you want to talk about. I think there are a few things we could start with, but I don’t generally set an agenda with my clients. But if I’m honest, I think you could use more support than you’re currently getting, and I’d like to help you.”

To Peter’s horror, he felt his throat grow suddenly tight. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

“Okay, then it’s settled. I’ll see you and Morgan this Friday?”

Peter nodded. “Sure.”

“Tell her I hope she feels better.” Clarissa picked up her coat from where it was draped over the back of one of the chairs and shrugged into it. “Take care of yourself, Peter.”

“I will.” Peter walked her out and watched as she made her way carefully down the steps to the driveway and got into her car. He closed the door. 

An hour later, when Tony came downstairs, Peter was sitting at the table with his laptop. Tony was still rubbing his eyes blearily as he poured himself a cup of coffee. 

“Morgan still out?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah.” Tony sat down beside him. “Homework?”

“No, actually.” Peter drew a deep breath. “So, um. Clarissa came by earlier.”

“Oh shit,” Tony said, setting his coffee mug down abruptly. “I completely forgot––what day is it? Is it Friday already?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Peter replied, as gently as possible. “It was okay. She and I talked. I think––I think I’m going to start seeing her when she comes for Morgan. If that’s okay.”

Tony frowned. “Of course it’s okay.”

Peter could see Tony trying to figure out what to ask him––some version of _are you okay?_ or _is this too much?_ Neither of which did Peter feel like dealing with at the moment. “Anyway,” he said, not giving Tony the opportunity, “she thought that I maybe needed something to do for fun, and I was thinking... Legos?” He turned the screen so Tony could see it. “Ned and I were working on the Millennium Falcon when, um, when we both got snapped, and I think I want to wait to do that one with him. But there’s, like, five years of stuff I missed. I was thinking maybe the Apollo 11 lunar lander might be fun, and maybe one of the robots for me to build with Morgan?” Peter swallowed, feeling unaccountably nervous. “I just, I think I need something to do with my hands.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony said, now looking more confused than concerned. “You don’t need my permission for this, Pete.”

Peter felt himself go red. “Thanks, but I, um. I kind of need your credit card?”

“Just ask FRIDAY. She’ll get you anything you need.”

“I don’t _need_ it,” Peter said, trying to explain to him that he hadn’t wanted to just order it like he did the groceries. 

“Anything you want then. Seriously, kid, still a billionaire here. Order the entire Lego catalogue as far as I’m concerned.”

Peter managed a smile. “I think I’ll just start with the two sets.” He placed the order and sat back, feeling better than he had in weeks. Maybe it was just having something to look forward to. “I think Morgan will really like the robot I got her. I know it says age seven, but she’s so smart, and of course I’ll help her.”

Tony smiled. “Sounds like fun.” 

Peter glanced at Tony, hesitating. Maybe he could bring up the fact that that he hadn’t had any workshop time lately. He was sort of hoping that once Morgan got the hang of working on the robot, she could do that while Peter and Tony tinkered with other stuff. But in the end, he couldn’t figure out a way to say it that wouldn’t make Tony feel bad about needing the garage to be his own space. 

And if Peter was honest, he didn’t want to have to ask; he wanted Tony to ask _him_. He wanted Tony to say, “Hey Pete, I got something I’ve been wanting to show you” the way he had before. Before the snap, nothing had made Peter feel more valued––more _seen_––than those words from Tony. Knowing that Tony had been thinking about him while he worked and looking forward to their workshop time together, and more importantly, knowing that Tony thought he was smart enough to understand, smart enough to contribute––that had meant the world to Peter. 

He wanted that back. And if he couldn’t have that, then Peter thought he might as well stick to building Lego replicas of NASA spacecraft in the house. 

After a bit, Tony got up, rinsed out his coffee mug, and went outside. Back to the garage. 

Peter went upstairs to see how Morgan was doing. She was still sleeping. Her fever was down to a hundred and one. Peter stretched out beside her on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping he might nap for an hour or two. He was still so damn tired. 

At least he had Legos to look forward to now. That was something.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Fuzzyboo for beta reading, especially since I wrote this all out of order and it's been a total PITA. I know there are people who write out of order all the time, but I am not one of them. But I've more or less caught up with myself now.

Peter had been dreading the holidays since the day after his birthday in August. In his head, it always triggered the headlong rush toward the end of the year: the start of school, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and then the new year. The minute his birthday was over, he’d started thinking about the holidays.

It was going to be rough this year, there was no way around that. Ben had died in November, and that first Christmas without him had been brutal. Tony and Morgan had a little more of a cushion before their first Christmas without Pepper––about eight months––but Peter was still braced for it. Especially since Tony didn't seem to be anticipating it at all, or at least he hadn’t said a word to Peter about it. 

Thanksgiving was quiet but not the emotional landmine Peter had worried it’d be. Tony had roasted the bird––chicken instead of turkey, because Peter and Tony agreed that turkey was kind of terrible––but they’d all pitched in on making the sides. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce (from a can, as God intended), and the green bean casserole May always made. Tony had made horrified noises about the canned French onions, but he’d also eaten a second helping. They’d bought a pie per person from a nearby farm––one pumpkin, one cranberry-apple, one caramel-apple––and made homemade whipped cream to go on top. 

After dinner, Peter had thought Tony might retreat to the garage, but he hadn’t. He’d had FRIDAY queue up a bunch of old-fashioned Christmas movies, and the three of them had spent the evening working on Morgan’s robot together. It was one of the better days they’d had in recent memory. Peter wondered if maybe the holidays wouldn’t be so bad after all.

But then days went by, and Tony didn’t even seem to recognize that there was another holiday coming. Peter started getting text messages from May, asking what their plans were. 

**May:** Are you coming here? Are we going there? It’d be nice to know what the plan is. 

**Peter:** I know, I’m trying to figure that out. It’s hard. 

**May:** I know it’s hard, but we already didn’t get to spend Thanksgiving together. I’m not giving up Christmas, too. 

**Peter:** I need to think about Morgan. 

**May:** Morgan will do best with lots of people around. And you need to think about _you_, too, baby. 

Peter frowned. But before he could answer, May texted again.

_Do I need to talk to Tony?_

Peter’s frown deepened. This was the closest May had come to violating their agreement not to talk about Tony. He couldn’t really blame her, but he also didn’t want to get into it with her. _No, I got this._

The three dots appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again. _You got three days, kiddo. If you don’t have a plan by Dec 10, I’m calling Tony._

Great. Peter sighed and shoved his phone in his pocket. 

Fortunately for him, the next day was a therapy day for him and Morgan. Clarissa listened to him ramble incoherently about holiday plans––about how he couldn’t even remember the last Christmas he hadn’t spent in the city and he was sure Morgan would love a New York Christmas, but he also understood if they wanted to stay at the lake house, and in any case, it wasn’t really up to him to decide––for about ten minutes, then stopped him. “Peter,” she said, “what are you afraid will happen if you just talk to Tony and Morgan where you’ll spend Christmas?”

“Um.” Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess... we spent Thanksgiving here by ourselves, and that was okay, but the truth is that I don’t want to do that for Christmas. I miss May, and I think it’ll be easier if we have other people around. So I think we should either invite everyone up here or go down to the city, and I think it’ll be a lot easier and more fun in the city. I _want_ to go to the city,” he added, finally saying outright what he’d been afraid to so far, “but what if Tony doesn’t?”

“What _if_ Tony doesn’t?” Clarissa countered. “Couldn’t you go see May for the holiday, anyway?”

“And leave Tony and Morgan on their own?”

“You’re going to have to do that at some point,” Clarissa pointed out. 

“But not _yet_. And not for Christmas.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I can’t,” Peter said, feeling his anxiety ratchet up at the idea. “I can’t just abandon Morgan.”

“You wouldn’t be abandoning her, Peter. She’d be with her father. Unless...” Clarissa tilted her head, watching Peter so carefully he wanted to squirm. “Do you not trust Tony to take care of her properly?”

“That’s not fair,” Peter said immediately. 

“What isn’t fair?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust him,” Peter said, because it _wasn’t_. “But what if she gets another ear infection or has a night terror, and he went out to the garage? What if she needs him and he’s not there, and I’m not there, either? I can’t––I can’t risk that.” He looked away, swallowing hard. 

Clarissa let that hang in the air for a few seconds. “This is definitely something we should talk about more,” she finally said. “But for now––Peter, I know you don’t like to hear it, but you’re a kid. You’ve got a lot of maturity and wisdom for someone your age, but you are a kid. I realize that your relationship with Tony is complicated, but you need to be able to ask him for things you need.”

“I don’t _need_ to go to New York for Christmas,” Peter said. “I just... really, really want to.”

“You should be able to ask for things you want, too,” she replied. “Do you want to talk to him about this in a session?”

Peter thought about it. It felt ridiculous. “No. You’re right. I’m being crazy.”

“You know I don’t love it when you use that word to describe yourself,” Clarissa said mildly. “The parts of yourself that you call crazy are actually totally reasonable responses to things that have happened to you.”

“Right. Sorry.” Peter took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to him about it tonight, if he’s feeling okay.”

“Good. Feel free to text me before or after.”

Peter nodded, ducking his head. “Thanks.”

That night, Tony seemed to be doing okay. He made spaghetti bolognese, and then he took Morgan upstairs for her bath while Peter tried to do his reading for history. But he couldn’t concentrate, too wrapped up in thinking ahead to the conversation he needed to have with Tony. 

Clarissa wasn’t wrong, Peter admitted to himself. He didn’t totally trust Tony anymore. He knew that Tony would never, ever let anything happen to Morgan physically. But physical safety wasn’t the only thing that mattered. Peter had made a promise to himself, that he was going to make sure that Morgan grew up knowing she was loved and safe, and he had to keep that promise. He _had_ to. 

It said something––something that Peter himself was not totally comfortable with admitting––that he wasn’t sure Tony could do that for his own daughter. Not that Tony didn’t _want_ to. Peter was sure that Tony wanted what was best for Morgan just as much as he did. But Peter wasn’t sure that Tony was capable of it. Not right then. 

Peter had been reading the same page over and over again for about twenty minutes when Tony came back downstairs. “Her Highness would like you to read her a bedtime story. Apparently my voices are subpar.”

Peter grinned and stood up, closing his history book with some relief. “I do a mean Pigeon.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Um. Are you going out to the garage? I just––I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Tony looked surprised. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, more relieved than he had any right to be. 

Upstairs, Morgan was ensconced in bed with her menagerie of stuffed animals, with all her books picked out. Peter settled onto the bed next to her and she snuggled in close. They took turns reading the first book, _A Fly Went By_. By the end, she was yawning, so he prodded her to lie down and stretched out beside her. 

“Hey, Mo-Mo, can I ask you something?” he asked, before opening _The Pigeon Needs a Bath_.

“Yep.”

“Christmas is coming up,” Peter said slowly. “And we have to decide where to spend it. We could spend it in the city, with May and Happy and maybe Rhodey and Bruce. Or maybe they could come up here. Do you... do you know what you’d like us to do?”

Morgan frowned. “I miss Aunt May and Uncle Happy.”

Peter pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Her hair was slightly damp from her bath still. “Me too. So you want us to be with them either way?” 

She nodded and craned her head back to look up at him. “Is Christmas fun in the city?”

Peter had to smile. “So fun. The city gets all dressed up and there are all these lights everywhere. We could go ice skating in Rockefeller Center or Central Park and go see Santa at Macy’s...”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Santa isn’t real.”

“Hey,” Peter said, booping her nose, “we’ve got time travel and aliens, so I think the jury might still be out on Santa. But you don’t have to go see him if you don’t want to, it was just an idea. What do you think about the rest of it, though?”

“The rest of it sounds fun,” she said judiciously. “And there’ll be presents, right?”

“Definitely,” Peter assured her, even as he thought, _Oh shit, presents_. Thank God for the internet and expedited shipping. 

“That’s okay, then.”. 

“You’re okay not being here for Christmas?” Peter pressed her. 

She was quiet for a little while, thinking. Peter let her process. “I think the house makes Daddy sad,” she said at last. “And I don’t want him to be sad on Christmas.”

Peter’s throat felt tight. “That’s really sweet, Mo-Mo. But I think Dad might be sad on Christmas no matter what.”

“Because he misses Mommy.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan was quiet again for a few seconds. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I miss Mommy, too. I wish she was still here. Then Daddy wouldn’t be so sad all the time.”

Peter winced. “I’m sorry, bugaboo, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He wiped her tears away with his thumb. “Listen, we’re going to have a good Christmas, all right? Lots of presents, and ice skating, and May and Happy and Rhodey and Bruce. We’re going to watch all kinds of Christmas movies and eat cookies all day long. Does that sound like fun?”

She nodded, sniffling.

“Now, what do you want for Christmas?”

She brightened, just a little. “I want another robot!”

Peter smiled. “I think we can probably manage that.”

“What do _you_ want for Christmas?” Morgan asked shrewdly. 

“Oh,” Peter said, faltering. “I don’t know.” He really couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Morgan nodded, satisfied. She snuggled close again, and Peter opened the book. 

He went downstairs a few minutes later and found Tony doing dishes in the kitchen. Peter picked up a plate and started drying. 

“Morgan go to sleep okay?” Tony asked. 

“Yeah.” Peter cleared his throat. “So. Um. Christmas is in like two weeks.”

Tony’s shoulders visibly stiffened. “Yeah.”

Peter swallowed. “May was asking me what our plans were, and I realized I didn’t know. But I think... I’d like to see her. And Happy. Morgan told me she misses them. So I guess... either they could come up here or we could... we could go down there.”

“You don’t need my permission to go see your aunt, Pete,” Tony said, looking at him. “For Christmas or any other time.”

“I know. But I don’t want to be away from Morgan for Christmas. Or you,” Peter added, a little daringly. “Don’t you think this is something we should decide together, as a...” He hesitated. “As a family?”

Tony nodded. He turned off the water, wiped his hands on a dishtowel, and turned around, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I don’t want you to be away from us either,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He let out a long sigh, looking around at the house. “Maybe it would be better if we weren’t here. Maybe it’d be easier for Morgan, anyway.”

“It’ll be distracting, at least,” Peter said, shifting to putting the dishes away. “And we’ll have May and Happy, and maybe Rhodey and Bruce. It’s been a while since we’ve seen any of them.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and managed a smile. “Yeah. Okay.” He sighed. “I’m going out to the garage. You need anything?”

Peter hesitated. He had the sudden urge to ask Tony to stay. He wondered what Tony would do if he did. Maybe Tony would stay and they’d watch a movie together and have a nice evening. Or maybe Tony would stay and resent it. Or maybe Tony would say no and leave Peter on his own again, only it would be worse than if Peter hadn’t asked at all. 

In the end, Peter just shook his head. He quashed the pang of loneliness he felt once Tony had gone, forcing himself to pick up his phone and text May the good news. Then he sat down to figure out which robot he was going to buy Morgan. 

Over the next few days, all the plans for Christmas fell into place. Tony owned the penthouse in the building May and Happy lived in, so the matter of where to do it was a no-brainer. Rhodey and Bruce both happily accepted Peter’s invitations to come and stay, and Peter coordinated with May to have the penthouse decorated––except for the tree––before they got there, as a surprise for Morgan. 

On the twenty-third, the three of them piled into the car, along with the few presents that hadn’t been delivered to Tony’s place in the city, and headed down. 

Peter hadn’t been back to the city for months. He was surprised by how much calmer he felt as they got nearer to the city, even as the traffic increased. When they drove over the GW Bridge, he felt his entire body relax. He was home. 

Peter had only been to the penthouse twice before. It never felt very lived in, but whoever had decorated it had done a good job. Garland was wound around every post, and a winter wonderland village decorated the mantle of the gas fireplace. An enormous wreath hung above it. The tree that stood in pride of place in the living room was fake, but the smell of pine and cinnamon hung in the air anyway. Morgan ooh’d and ahh’d just as Peter had hoped she would, running from one dazzling decoration to another and begging Peter to pick her up so she could look at the village more closely.

Peter had promised May he’d spend at least the first night in her apartment, so after Morgan calmed down and he helped her get settled, he took his suitcase down two floors to May and Happy’s apartment. May flung open the door and threw her arms around him. Peter clung back, overwhelmed to the point of dizziness by how glad he was to see her. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in.

Finally she let go long enough to usher him into the apartment. “It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said, keeping her arm around his shoulders. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Peter said, dropping his head to her shoulder. 

“Hi Peter,” Happy said, from where he stood stirring something on the stove. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Happy,” Peter said, smiling weakly at him. “What smells so good?”

“I got cider for you and Morgan and mulled wine for the rest of us. Tony and Morgan settling in?”

“They seemed to be. It’s been an okay day so far. I think Morgan’s excited about all the presents.”

Happy nodded. “I’ll go up and see if they need anything. I’m going to leave these simmering. _Don’t_ forget that the stove is on,” he added to May. 

May rolled her eyes at Peter. “You almost burn down the apartment _one time_. Come on, I want to show you your room.”

“I’ve seen my room,” Peter said, dragging his suitcase down the hallway behind her. 

“Not since I redecorated it,” she said, and opened the door with a flourish. 

It was true that the last time Peter had seen his room at May and Happy’s apartment, it had been a little bland. It’d been a guest room before the snap was reversed, and Peter hadn’t ever actually lived there. But since his last visit six months ago, May had changed a lot. The bed now sported a blue and red quilt, with dark red sheets. Lego models Peter had put together with Ned before the snap were lined up on the shelves. Two of the walls had _Star Wars_ posters in cheap black poster frames. The third wall, by Peter’s bed, had a cluster of photos that looked professionally framed. 

They were photos of him and Morgan and Tony, Peter realized. And not just any photos––they were the photos May had taken of them the day after Pepper’s funeral, after Peter had convinced Tony to come downstairs and he’d introduced Peter and Morgan properly. They were photos of the moment Peter became Morgan’s big brother.

“I thought you might like those,” May said quietly. 

“I do,” Peter said, feeling a little choked up. “The whole room is great, May.”

“I want you to feel like you have a home here,” May said. “Because you do, Peter. You always will.”

Peter swallowed. He knew that May wanted him to spend more time here, with her. He knew that she was hoping that if he felt more at home here, he might start coming down on weekends, or maybe alternating weeks between the city and the lake house. They hadn’t talked about it at all in a long time, but it was obvious that that was what this was about. 

And Peter wanted to. But the photos she’d chosen were a reminder of why he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Morgan’s voice echoing in the living room saved Peter from having to explain that to May just then. Peter shoved all of that to the side. He’d deal with it after the holiday was over. 

That evening, they all ate dinner together in May and Happy’s apartment. The adults got kind of tipsy on Happy’s mulled wine, while Peter and Morgan had way too much apple cider. After dinner, they piled onto the sofa together to watch _A Muppets Christmas Carol_. Peter shared a blanket with Morgan, snuggled up between Tony and May. Tony’s cheeks were flushed from the wine, and his eyes were brighter than Peter had seen them for a long time. 

By the time the movie was over, it was past Morgan’s bedtime. She whined and resisted as Tony tried to get her to come upstairs with him. Then she realized that Peter wasn’t coming with them, and the whining turned into outright wailing. 

“It’s just for tonight,” Peter tried to reassure her as she clung to him with both arms and legs. “And if you need me, all you have to do is tell FRIDAY.”

Morgan sobbed. “I w-want to s-stay with y-you.”

“Mo-Mo, it’s going to be okay,” Peter tried to assure her. “I promise. Have I ever broken a promise?”

Morgan shook her head. She drew a shaking breath. “Please, Peter. _Please._”

Jeez. Peter exchanged a look with Tony. He guessed they should have seen the separation anxiety coming. Peter was feeling some of it himself, but he was able to argue himself down from it. Mostly. “What if I come upstairs and read to you?” he finally suggested. 

“You’ll stay until I fall asleep?” Morgan prodded, clinging to him. 

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” Peter promised. 

“Peter,” May said quietly. 

“I’ll come back down,” Peter told her, trying not to sound annoyed. “Just give me a few minutes.”

May nodded, even though she didn’t look thrilled. She probably thought that if he went upstairs with Morgan and Tony, he wouldn’t come back down to stay in his room. And for some reason, that had become very important to her. 

Morgan’s room in the penthouse was decorated in soft greens and pinks, and it contained a lot of duplicates of her room at the lake house––the same bookshelves, the same rocking chair, the same clock with the face of a cat. Morgan went to pick out the books she wanted to read while Tony got her stuffed animals out of her duffel bag. Then the three of them settled on Morgan’s bed together, with her tucked in the middle. 

She had calmed down once Peter had agreed to come upstairs with them, but he wasn’t sure what they were going to do if she failed to fall asleep. But it’d been a long day with no nap; as much as Morgan fought it, her body wanted to sleep. Peter and Tony took turns reading, and by the end of the second book, Morgan had grown heavy and drowsy against Peter’s chest. Peter rubbed her back lightly while Tony read the third book. By the end of it, she was asleep. 

Peter slid carefully out from beneath her and tucked her in. He and Tony tiptoed out and shut the door softly behind them. 

In the living room, they both breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Pete,” Tony said. “That would’ve been a nightmare without you.”

Peter sighed. “I guess we should’ve expected it. We should probably tell Clarissa.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll text her tomorrow.”

Peter hesitated. There wasn’t any reason for him to linger, but he found himself unwilling to leave Tony on his own. “Are you, um—”

“I’m okay,” Tony said. The wine-flush was gone, and now he just looked tired and pale. “I’ve got lots of wrapping to do.”

Peter didn’t totally buy it; he’d opted for gift wrapping on most of what he’d ordered, and he didn’t believe that Tony hadn’t done the same. But instead of calling Tony’s bluff, he hugged him, a little abruptly and impulsively. It took Tony by surprise, but after a few seconds he leaned into it, gently patting Peter on the back. 

“I’m right downstairs,” Peter told him. “And I don’t mind being woken up.”

“I know, kiddo. Now go before your aunt comes up here and physically drags you back.”

Peter squeezed Tony one last time and forced himself to get in the elevator and go back down to May and Happy’s apartment. 

Happy had apparently gone to bed. May was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of tea and a magazine. Peter didn’t buy the faux casual set-up anymore than he’d bought Tony’s line about wrapping presents, but he accepted her offer of a cup of tea and sat down with her. 

“Morgan go to sleep okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, in the end. Thanks for understanding,” Peter said, dunking his tea bag in the hot water. “We just haven’t spent much time apart since she lost Pepper.”

May nodded. “You’re a big part of her life, and an even bigger part of her sense of safety and stability.”

Peter knew it was true, but the remark made him frown. “Is that a dig at Tony?”

May shook her head. “No.”

“Because it wasn’t fair if it was,” Peter added, not really believing her. “Tony is doing his best.”

“Tony relies an awful lot on you, kiddo. So does Morgan. I just worry about what they’re going to do when you go away to college or move back to the city.”

“Well, we’re not there yet.”

“You don’t miss your friends? You’ve hardly seen Ned or Michelle. Don’t you miss going to Midtown?”

“I’m keeping up,” Peter said defensively. 

“That isn’t the point, sweetheart.” May sighed. “We don’t have to talk about this now. I don’t want to spend the holiday arguing about it.”

“Me neither.”

“But,” May added, looking determined, “I do want you to think about it. It’s been eight months since Pepper died. How much longer are you going to put your life on hold?”

“My life isn’t on hold,” Peter replied. “No more than yours was when you and Ben adopted me.”

“That was different.”

“How? I know the two of you never wanted kids. But when my parents died, you took me in and loved me. You made me feel so safe and wanted. And now I have to do that for Morgan.” Peter stood up, sliding off the stool. He hadn’t drunk any of his tea, but he suddenly didn’t want it. “Look. I get it. You think I shouldn’t be doing this. You think I’m too young, or that Tony should be able to handle this himself. But this is _my choice_, May. They’re my family.”

“I’m your family, too, Peter,” May said softly. “I lost you for five years. I feel like I’m still waiting to get you back.”

Peter rocked back on his heels. He didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, looking away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s... it’s okay,” Peter said. “I didn’t know you felt like that. I’ll... I’ll think about things, all right? Maybe we can work something out for me to spend more time here.”

She nodded, though the smile she gave him was wan. He hugged her and kissed her cheek before heading to bed. 

The next morning, Morgan and Tony came downstairs for breakfast. Morgan leapt into Peter’s arms like they’d been separated for months instead of hours, but otherwise she looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The same couldn’t be said of Tony, but he did perk up after his third cup of coffee, which coincided with Rhodey and Bruce’s arrival. 

Peter didn’t say anything to May about their conversation the night before. May didn’t say anything to him, either, so he hoped that they’d both decided to just let things be for a few days. 

With less than twenty-four hours to go before Christmas morning, there were definitely enough other things to think about. Happy started baking––Christmas cookies and pies and coffee cake and cinnamon rolls. May and Rhodey barricaded themselves in the back of May and Happy’s apartment to wrap presents, since apparently not everyone had Peter’s foresight. The rest of them opened up the boxes of ornaments the decorators had pulled out of storage and started trimming the tree. Morgan helped a little bit, but she quickly lost interest and wandered off to help Happy, leaving the tree to Peter, Tony, and Bruce. 

Bruce was cheerful and calming, and Peter always felt better in his presence. For some reason, _his_ questions were easier to take than May’s—maybe because Peter knew Bruce didn’t have any kind of stake in getting him to move back to the city. He waited until Tony had gone downstairs to check on the bakers before he asked Peter how things were going.

“Better some days than others,” Peter admitted. He’d scaled the wall next to the tree and found a prime spot for hanging a delicate, abstract glass ornament he was sure Pepper had picked out. It was easy to tell which ornaments had been bought before Morgan and which ones after. The bottom half of the tree was going to look very different from the top. 

“Tony still isn’t seeing the therapist Sam recommended?”

Peter climbed down. “Not as far as I know, and I’m pretty sure I would. I don’t know why. I think he knows it might help.”

Bruce sighed. “Sometimes, when we feel like we’re just barely holding it together, any kind of change feels like a threat. Pull on one thread and it might all unravel.”

“Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“And how are you doing, Peter?” Bruce asked. “We miss you at the compound. Bucky and Sam would love to have you down for training sometime.”

“Maybe,” Peter said, even as he felt a pang of longing. He remembered what he’d told Clarissa weeks ago now, about how much he’d loved web swinging. Maybe this was a way to get it back.

Bruce was watching him closely, Peter realized after a moment. “What?” he asked, a little testily. 

“Nothing,” Bruce said. “I just wonder if you might also be afraid of tugging on a string.”

Peter opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. Bruce only smiled and turned his attention back to the tree.

Peter picked up the next ornament and unwrapped it. This one had a photo of a baby Morgan and the inscription _Morgan’s First Christmas – 2019_. Peter hung that ornament near the bottom, where Morgan would be able to see it. 

That night, he went to sleep in his room in the penthouse, right next door to Morgan’s. He knew that May was disappointed he wasn’t spending Christmas Eve under her roof—figuratively, if not literally—but as he fell asleep, he felt that he was exactly where he needed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're sticking with me through this angst-fest (and I promise there will be comfort to go with the hurt), I'd love to know it. Comments are love!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter this time! Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading.

Christmas Day dawned clear and cold, without a hint of snow. Morgan woke Peter up horrifically early, but he’d predicted that and squirreled away one of her presents in his room for her to open. It was a coloring book of basic science concepts and a brand new set of crayons, and she was content to sit on the floor of his bedroom and color while Peter dozed.

Morgan had a lot of focus for a kid her age, but that still only bought him about an hour. At that point, it was still horrifically early, but Morgan was out of patience. Peter decided that if he had to be awake, so did Tony, and sent her to wake up her dad while Peter started the coffee. The penthouse was big enough that hopefully they could avoid waking up Rhodey and Bruce until a more civilized hour. 

They’d all have a big breakfast together later on, but in the meantime Peter put out some of the cookies Happy and Morgan had made the day before. 

“Cookies for breakfast?” Tony asked when he saw them. 

“What, like donuts are any better?”

“True,” Tony conceded. “But just one, Morgan, we’re doing breakfast once everyone else is awake.”

“Can we do presents now?” she asked, dancing in place as she looked at the pile of gifts under the tree. Peter and Tony had slipped them under there the previous night, after she had gone to bed. 

“_Some_ presents now,” Peter said, taking his coffee and plate of cookies and going to sit on the floor. Tony sat on the sofa. “Get one for each of us, all right?” he added, even though the math wasn’t really going to work out; Morgan had as many presents under the tree as Peter and Tony did combined. 

It was possible they’d both gone kind of overboard.

In addition to the coloring book and crayons, Peter had gotten Morgan a new Lego robot, some watercolor pencils and paper, an IOU for a trip to the Build-a-Bear store in New York, and an impossibly fuzzy blanket with arms that just _happened_ to be Iron Man themed. 

“I want a Spiderman one, too!” Morgan declared as she wrapped herself up in it. 

“They don’t really make Spiderman merch anymore,” Peter said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s even seen him.”

Tony cleared his throat and handed Peter a flat box. “Open your present, kid.”

Peter eyed Tony suspiciously, then tore into the wrapping paper. He lifted the top off the box. 

Inside was a suit. A Spiderman suit. 

Peter looked up at Tony, speechless. He’d known Tony was messing around with the web shooters, but he hadn’t known he was making him a new suit. 

“Thought it might be time for an upgrade,” Tony said softly. 

“I... don’t know what to say,” Peter said, picking it up and just holding it in his hands. The material was both strong and supple, and he was pretty sure that the web shooters were made out of vibranium. He didn’t even want to know what kind of favor Tony had called in for that. “Thank you. I can’t wait to use it.”

Tony shrugged off Peter’s expression of gratitude, as he always did. “You deserve it, Pete.”

Morgan––with obviously more than a little help from Tony––had gotten him the expensive Millennium Falcon Lego set. He and Ned had been building the budget version when they were snapped, but the expensive version was way better. Ned would be stoked, Peter thought, with a pang of guilt for how long it had been since he’d last talked to his friend. Morgan had also gotten him three science-pun t-shirts and a stuffed Porg. 

Peter laughed when he saw the Porg, then hugged it and leaned over to kiss Morgan on the forehead. “Thanks, Mo-Mo. You’re a pretty awesome little sister.”

“You’re the _best_ big brother,” she replied, giving him a sticky, crumby kiss on the cheek.

It had been really hard to figure out what to get Tony. Tony had been tough to buy for even before the snap. Morgan apparently always got her dad a funny tie and funny socks for Christmas, so Peter had helped her with picking them out. But that still had left Peter himself with no present for Tony. 

He’d spent hours online, looking for inspiration, but he’d kept thinking of what Rhodey had said to him the day after Pepper’s funeral, about how no one could give Tony the thing he really wanted. That was still true, eight months later. Everything just felt... shallow, in comparison to what Tony had lost. 

In the end, Peter had decided that nothing he could buy could possibly convey to Tony what he and Morgan meant to him, and May had always liked it when Peter had made her something, even when it was kind of ugly and cobbled together. Peter was pretty sure parents were constitutionally incapable of hating things their kids made them. At least, he hoped so. 

He and Morgan had spent a couple hours messing around outside in the crisp fall air with Peter’s camera and had taken a bunch of really silly photos. He’d printed them out, along with a bunch of other photos from the last eight months, and then he and Morgan had spent an afternoon gluing them onto a wooden board. He’d painted over them with a glossy, protective lacquer, and then painted the edges of the board Iron Man red. It looked a little like a kid’s art project, kind of simple and cheesy, but Peter hoped that it’d remind Tony of what he had. 

It’d gotten stuck toward the back––maybe on purpose––so it was the last present Tony opened. He stared at it, eyes scanning each of the photos, for so long that Peter felt his nerves coalesce into a ball in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Tony _did_ hate it after all. 

But then Tony looked up at Peter, eyes wet and red, and said, “It’s perfect, Pete, thank you.”

Peter felt his face turn red. “You’re kind of hard to buy for.”

Tony gave a shaky laugh. “So I’ve been told. This is going up in the garage.”

Peter couldn’t be sure, but that felt a little bit like progress.

“My turn!” Morgan announced, shattering the moment. Her present––the last one under the tree––was very small. She tore off the paper with abandon. Inside was a white jewelry box. She pulled the lid off. 

Nestled in the box was a necklace with a very small amethyst pendant. It was delicate––too delicate for a four-year-old, in Peter’s opinion. There was no way Morgan was ever going to wear it without losing it or breaking the chain. 

“Pretty,” Morgan said, sounding confused. 

Tony cleared his throat. “It’s from Mom.” Morgan looked up at him, eyes wide. “I was going through some of her things, and I found it with a note that said _For Morgan_. I think it was hers when she was younger. It’s her birthstone, which is also your birthstone. Amethyst.”

“Oh.” Morgan stared down at it. “I can wear it?

“Yes, but you have to be careful,” Tony said. “It’s for special occasions when you get dressed up. But when you wear it, you can think of Mom and know that she’s with you.” 

Tony’s voice cracked on the last word. Morgan must have heard it, too, because she got up and threw her arms around him. Tony hugged her back, then gestured to Peter with one hand. Peter got to his knees and slid his arms around both of them. None of them said anything. They didn’t have to; Peter was sure they were all feeling everything that was good and everything that was hard about this moment at the same time. 

Finally Tony kissed Morgan on the forehead and Peter on the side of his face and said, “Okay, kiddos, time to get dressed.”

“Can I wear my necklace?” Morgan asked. 

Peter glanced at Tony. It didn’t really go with what they’d packed for Morgan to wear on Christmas Day, but he guessed that didn’t matter. He still didn’t think it was a great idea for her to wear it at all, but he wasn’t her dad. 

“Will you be extra careful?” Tony asked her. She nodded. “Then yes, you can wear it. Go get dressed and then Peter or I will help you put it on.”

She ran off to her room. Peter decided to finish picking up the living room. It wasn’t quite time to head downstairs yet, though he could hear Bruce and Rhodey moving around in the guest rooms, showering and dressing and getting ready. 

He realized after a moment that Tony hadn’t moved. He was just sitting, holding the little white box with Morgan’s necklace in it. 

“Tony?” Peter said quietly. 

“I know she’s too young for it,” Tony said, choked-up. “I know I should have waited until she was twelve or thirteen. But I just... I wanted her to have it now.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, even though he’d been thinking exactly that. “We’ll help her take care of it. We can, I don’t know, stick a tiny tracker on it or something, so she can’t lose it.”

Tony nodded. He looked up at Peter, eyes wet and red-rimmed. “That was okay, right? It was a good morning?”

That was when Peter realized just how much effort Tony was expending to hold himself together. “Yeah, Tony. It was a really good morning.”

Tony managed a smile. “Good. Okay.” He heaved himself off the sofa. “Onward.”

Downstairs, in Happy and May’s apartment, was a whole other Christmas morning. First there was coffee and—for the adults—mimosas, with a French toast casserole Happy had made. Then, full of carbs and sugar and on the verge of a food coma, they sprawled all over the living room for a second round of presents. 

May—and Happy, but mostly May, Peter knew—gave Peter two memberships to the Hayden Planetarium and the Natural History Museum. “One for you and one for Ned,” May said. “So you two can go as much as you want.”

Peter hugged her. “Very subtle,” he murmured into her ear. 

“I’m not trying to be,” she whispered back.

Peter rolled his eyes. But he had to admit that it’d be pretty cool to get to go to the Natural History Museum whenever he wanted, and to take Morgan with him. It’d been a very occasional treat when he was a kid. 

Throughout the present-opening, he kept a close eye on Tony. He’d turned down May’s offer of a mimosa, a sure sign that he was feeling shaky. Tony still drank occasionally, but after an early incident where he’d broken down crying in front of Morgan after two Manhattans, he’d become careful to only do it on days that were a three or lower. 

Peter had been worried he might break that rule today, and he didn’t. But he also wasn’t really taking part in the festivities. Now that there were other people around to look after Morgan, he didn’t seem to be trying nearly as hard as he had that morning. If someone said something to him, he’d respond, and he made sure to smile at Morgan whenever she showed off one of her gifts, but Peter could tell he was a thousand miles away. 

It was a good thing Morgan was too distracted to notice. Once the presents were open, she had to try on all her new clothes. Peter remembered being disappointed when he’d gotten clothes as a kid, but one of the ways Morgan was like both her parents was that she _liked_ clothes, and she’d gotten Pepper’s discerning eye. It made buying for her a challenge, but May had hit it out of the park. Morgan tried everything on in front of the mirror in Peter’s room, before finally settling on a purple dress she’d received, even though it wasn’t especially Christmassy, because it matched her necklace. 

By the time Peter and Morgan re-emerged from Peter’s room, with Morgan in the desired dress, Rhodey, Bruce, and Happy were in the kitchen, working on round two of food. Morgan scampered over to her pile of presents and sat down to open the new package of PlayDoh that Bruce had given her. 

Tony was missing, Peter realized, glancing around. But he was probably just in the bathroom, or maybe he’d gone upstairs to have a minute to himself. The day had been a lot so far.

Half an hour went by, and Tony didn’t reappear. Morgan was so distracted by her new toys and by all the people around to entertain her that she didn’t seem to notice her dad was missing, but Peter grew increasingly anxious. Finally he ducked into his bedroom and activated FRIDAY on his StarkWatch. “FRI, can you give me Tony’s location? Is he upstairs?”

“Mr. Stark is not in the building. His current location is in Central Park.”

Peter glanced outside. It had clouded over, but it didn’t look like it was going to start snowing or raining. He still hoped Tony had taken a coat. “Is he okay?”

“His temperature and blood pressure are within normal ranges. His heart rate is above average at ninety beats per minute.”

A panic attack then, maybe. Peter understood needing to be outside when you felt like you couldn’t breathe properly. Still, he really wished Tony had _told him_ he was leaving, and he’d like a rough guestimate for when he’d be back, if only so he had something to tell Morgan. He pulled his cell phone out and called Tony. 

It went to voicemail. 

Peter called again. It went to voicemail a second time, after only a couple of rings. 

Peter felt his own heart rate start to pick up. “FRIDAY––”

“Mr. Stark has asked me to relay to you that he is physically fine.”

That barely put a dent in Peter’s anxiety. “FRIDAY, can you ask him to come back? Please? He can hang out in the penthouse if he can’t handle being around everyone, but I don’t like the idea of him wandering around Central Park in the cold all by himself.”

There was a brief pause. Then FRIDAY said, “I’m afraid Mr. Stark has stopped responding to me.”

Peter sucked in a startled breath. “Text him one last time,” he said, anger starting to bleed into his voice. “Ask him: _What the hell do you want me to tell Morgan?_”

Peter didn’t expect a response. But barely fifteen seconds after he’d sent the message, his watch buzzed with a message from Tony. 

_I trust you_.

Peter wanted to do _something_––scream or cry or go looking for Tony so he could drag him back to the house. But with Tony MIA, Peter couldn’t break down, and he also couldn’t leave. Tony trusted him with Morgan, and that meant a lot, even if Peter was pissed at Tony at the moment. Furious, even––maybe more than was totally reasonable. He wasn’t sure where his simmering anger had come from, or if it was fair, or even if it was entirely directed at Tony, but the one thing he knew was that none of this was Morgan’s fault. 

He took five deep breaths, counted backwards from a hundred, and went back to the party. He quietly let Happy and Rhodey know what was going on, then went and sat with Morgan while she played with her PlayDoh. His enhanced hearing picked up the conversation going on in the kitchen about whether someone should go and get Tony, but he stayed out of it. The others could worry about Tony. Peter would worry about Morgan. 

She didn’t really notice that Tony was gone until they sat down for an early Christmas dinner. By then it was starting to get dark outside. Morgan had been up early and missed her nap, so she was already whiney as Peter prodded her into sitting down at the table in front of her plate of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce. She looked around and asked, “Where’s Daddy?”

“Dad went for a walk,” Peter said, trying to sound as relaxed as possible. 

“But it’s dinnertime. Isn’t he hungry?”

“If he is, he knows where to find us,” Peter replied. “Do you want some carrots?”

She nodded, but she didn’t pick up her fork, even once Peter had added a mound of buttery carrots to her plate. “Is he sick again?” she asked, looking up at Peter with her wide, dark eyes that were so much like Tony’s. 

Peter became aware that, even as everyone passed the food around the table, they were watching him and Morgan. “A little bit,” Peter said. “He thought a walk might help him feel better. But he’ll be back, and we’ll make sure we save some food for him.”

“Will he be back soon?” she pressed. 

“I... I’m not sure,” Peter said, not wanting to make a promise he had no way of keeping. “I hope so. But in the meantime, we’re going to enjoy the food Uncle Happy and Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Bruce made, right? They worked really hard on it.”

She looked at her plate. “I’m not hungry.” 

“You were hungry just a couple minutes ago.”

She shook her head again, more emphatically. “I’m not hungry. My stomach hurts.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He looked at May, who got up and came over to kiss Morgan on the crown of her head. “That’s okay, sweetie. We’ll save your plate for you, and if you start to feel better, you can have it. Or you can eat with your dad when he gets back.”

She nodded. She got up and went into the living room, curling up in a ball on the sofa and staring out the window at the darkening New York skyline. 

Peter swallowed, feeling as though his own appetite had fled along with Morgan’s. But he had a superhero metabolism to feed, so he forced himself to take a bite of his turkey, then a bite of his stuffing, then a bite of his carrots.

None of them spoke for at least two minutes. “FRIDAY says he’s okay,” Rhodey finally ventured. “He’s just walking loops around Central Park.”

“I know,” Peter replied shortly. He shoved his last carrot into his mouth, tossed his napkin on the table, and got up without asking to be excused. He went over to the sofa and sat down next to Morgan. 

“Your stomach still hurting, bugaboo?” he asked, ignoring the weight of everyone’s gazes on them. 

She nodded. “I want Daddy.”

“I know, Mo-Mo.” Peter put his arms around her. “Me too.”

Peter really hoped that Tony would be back in time for Morgan’s bedtime, but eventually it became clear to everyone that he wasn’t going to be. That seemed to be the final straw for the others; Rhodey put his coat on and left, presumably to go find him. 

Peter and May took Morgan upstairs to try and get her ready for bed. She’d gotten crankier and crankier as the evening wore on, and by the time May and Peter finished giving her a bath, she was in a full-blown meltdown. They managed to get her into her pajamas, but when Peter tried to braid her hair, she lay down on the floor and started screaming. 

She was _loud_, and Peter’s ears were sensitive. It was an instant headache, and nothing he or May did made it stop. Finally, out of desperation, Peter lay down on the floor with her and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened and pushed at him. “NO NO NO NO NO,” she yelled. “I don’t want you!”

“I know you don’t,” Peter said, as evenly as possible despite the cluster headache developing behind his right eye, “but I’m what you’ve got for now. Dad’s going to be back soon.”

“_Liar_,” she screamed, muffled where her face was pressed against his chest. She’d switched from pushing him away to clutching at his shirt, but Peter didn’t think she was aware of it. “LIAR LIAR LIAR.”

“I’m not lying, bugaboo, I promise,” Peter said, holding her close. He lifted his eyes to meet May’s. She stood in her doorway, hand over her mouth. “Uncle Rhodey went to go get him.”

“NO! He’s _never_ coming back. Never, never. Just like Mommy.”

Shit. Peter closed his eyes as Morgan went completely limp in his arms, all the fight going out of her at once, and started sobbing. “Baby, I promise you that isn’t true. I promise. Have I ever broken a promise?”

Morgan wouldn’t––or couldn’t––answer. She just kept crying into Peter’s shirt, clutching at him. Peter stood up with her in his arms and went into the hallway. He hesitated, looking at Morgan’s room, before finally turning left to go into Tony’s. He pulled back the covers and laid Morgan down in the bed, then climbed in with her. 

He wasn’t expecting May to slide in after him. Peter put his arms around Morgan, and May put her arms around Peter. Peter, to his horror, burst into tears. And not just a few tears––full-on ugly-crying, to the point where he couldn’t catch his breath. 

It shocked Morgan into near silence. She stared up at him, eyes rimmed in red and face tear-stained, still sniffling. “Peter?” she whispered. 

“I’m okay,” Peter managed. 

Morgan obviously didn’t believe him. She looked at May. 

“He’s okay, sweetie,” May said. “It’s just been a rough day for everyone.”

Morgan nodded, face crumpling a little. “This morning was fun,” she said, like a peace offering. “I don’t like it when Daddy leaves.”

“Me neither,” Peter said. He leaned back into May’s embrace. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” she promised, tucking Peter’s head beneath her chin. “I won’t.”

They didn’t have any of Morgan’s books with them, so May told them the story of how she and Ben had met at college. Peter had heard it a million times, but it was a quality story: May had dated Ben’s useless roommate for ten minutes before realizing that Ben was both cooler and kinder, but Ben had been totally oblivious. It had taken her months to get him to realize she was interested. There was romance and humor and a happy ending that Morgan wasn’t awake to hear. May told it all the way to the end for Peter, though. 

“He’d be so proud of you, honey,” May whispered when she was done. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing such a good thing.”

Peter had managed to stop crying, but he almost started again when she said that. “Really? You think so?”

“Oh honey.” May pressed her forehead against Peter’s temple. “I’m so sorry. Yes, I think so. Selfishly, I want you with me. But you are doing a good thing. And you’re doing a really good _job_, too.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Peter confessed. 

“Welcome to parenthood.” May pushed the hair off his forehead. “No one ever feels like they’re up to the task. We muddle through the best we can. But Morgan is lucky to have you. I love you, and I’m so, so proud of you.” 

It was the safest Peter had felt in ages, held against May, with Morgan in his arms. It was possibly the safest he’d felt since he’d come back. He dozed off, his head tucked against her shoulder. 

He wasn’t quite asleep when the front door opened. He roused at the sound of voices in the living room. Tony, he identified immediately, and Rhodey. Bruce, too. 

May started to climb out of bed. “May,” Peter said, catching her hand. She looked at him. “Don’t yell at him. Please.”

Her mouth thinned, but she nodded. Peter thought he should follow her, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He did catch snatches of the conversation in the living room. They were all keeping their voices down, but with his enhanced hearing he couldn’t help it.

“Peter asked me not to yell at you, so I won’t,” May started. “But Jesus Christ, Tony, do you have any idea––”

“May.” That was Bruce. 

“Don’t. This, today––Tony, I have been there. I did a first Christmas with my kid after losing my spouse. I get that it is hellishly difficult. But you do not get to check out, because you are still the adult in the room.”

Tony’s response was so quiet that Peter almost couldn’t catch it. ”I know.”

“Do you? That’s my kid, all right? I mean, he’s _our_ kid, but also my kid. And I know that he is brilliant and kind and he adores you and he loves Morgan more than I think I’ve ever seen him love anyone or anything––but he is still a kid. And he needs you, Tony. They both do.”

“I know. I do know that. I’m sorry, May. I wouldn’t blame you if you insisted that Peter come back here and live with you and Happy.”

Peter stiffened, afraid that that was exactly the opening May was looking for. But instead she just sighed. “If I did that, Peter would never forgive me. But for God’s sake, Tony––there can’t be a repeat of tonight. There just _can’t_ be.”

That was apparently the end of the discussion. A few moments later, Peter heard the elevator arrive, and May left.

“You all right, Tones?” Rhodey asked Tony. 

“Yeah. I am now. No, I mean it––earlier was... not good. But I’m okay now, I swear.”

“Okay. We’re right down the hall if you guys need us. Love you, Tones.”

“Thanks, Rhodey. Thanks, Bruce.”

Peter heard Rhodey and Bruce head down the hall toward the guest rooms. A few seconds later, the door to the bedroom opened. Tony stood there, looking at Peter. 

He looked almost gray with exhaustion. His eyes were red but his face was dry, his hair windblown and his lips chapped. He was shivering––not a lot, but enough for Peter to see it. 

While lying on the bathroom floor with Morgan, Peter had thought of a lot of things he wanted to say to Tony when he saw him, but in the end he blurted out, “Is that the only jacket you wore?”

Tony looked down at his leather jacket. “Yeah.”

“You must be freezing. Put your pajamas on and get into bed.”

Tony changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth in the bathroom. He came back out and slid into the spot May had previously occupied in the bed. His hands were like ice. So were his feet. He was shivering more in earnest now, and for all his frustration and anger, all Peter wanted was for Tony to be warm and safe and _with them_. 

God, he’d been scared earlier, he realized now. Really, really scared. 

Once Tony was tucked in to Peter’s satisfaction, with the blankets all the way up to his chin, Peter asked simply, “The park?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I just... walked. I didn’t mean to be gone so long, but I kind of... lost time. Dissociated, I guess. And then suddenly it was dark and Rhodey was there to bring me home.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “You wouldn’t answer my calls. Morgan thought you weren’t coming back.”

Tony closed his eyes. “Pete. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t care about sorry,” Peter said, letting a little of the anger he’d felt seep into his voice. Tony’s head jerked up. “Promise me that if you need to leave, you’ll say good-bye to Morgan and tell her that you’re coming back. _Promise_ me.”

Tony nodded. “I promise.” He paused, looking at Peter. Peter saw his eyes narrow slightly in concentration. “And I’m sorry if it wasn’t only Morgan I scared.”

Peter looked away. “I knew you hadn’t gone far.”

“But?” Tony prompted. 

“But you just... you just _left_,” Peter said, looking back at him. “And you wouldn’t answer your phone. I need you to answer next time, okay? Morgan’s not the only one who gets upset when you just vanish on us. That... that wasn’t okay.” Peter’s voice trembled. 

Tony’s hand found his beneath the covers and squeezed. “I know. Believe me, Rhodey had some pretty choice words for me. So did your aunt. You should be more angry at me about this.”

“I was pretty angry earlier,” Peter admitted. “Morgan might be angry at you later. But right now I’m just really glad you’re home.”

Tony squeezed his hand again. “Me too.”

Peter managed a weak smile for him. “You want to sleep?”

“Um. I’m actually kind of... hungry.” Tony said it sheepishly, like he wasn’t sure what Peter’s reaction would be. 

“Sure. Stay here, I’ll go see what we’ve got.” Peter sat up and carefully disentangled himself from Morgan. 

It seemed that some of the leftovers had made their way upstairs. Peter pulled out the food and started piling it on a plate. Once Peter saw it and smelled it, he realized that he was hungry, too, probably because he’d eaten about a quarter of what he usually did at dinner, and started making up a plate for himself. He zapped them in the microwave, then put both plates on a tray he found in one of the cupboards and poured them each a glass of seltzer. 

Peter wasn’t surprised to find Morgan awake when he returned to the bedroom. She was sitting tucked up under Tony’s arm. Peter walked in just in time to hear Tony say, “––and I’m really sorry for leaving. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re always sorry,” Morgan said. Peter winced at the blunt honesty of it. “Why don’t you just _not leave_?”

Tony smiled wanly. “You’re right, Morguna. I will try and just not leave next time.”

“Second dinner, Hobbit-style,” Peter said, setting the tray on the bed. “Are you hungry, bugaboo? You didn’t eat much earlier.”

“I want turkey and carrots,” she replied. 

“You can have some of mine,” Peter said, settling cross legged on the bed and putting the tray between them. “Just try not to drop anything.”

The three of them ate a second Christmas dinner in bed, which Morgan found endlessly fascinating; she’d only ever eaten in bed before when she was sick. Peter cleared his plate, minus the bit of turkey and handful of carrots that Morgan pilfered, and watched Tony put away more than he usually ate in a day. Walking around Central Park in the cold was apparently hungry work. When they were done, Peter took the dishes back to the kitchen and brought back pumpkin pie for all three of them. By then, Morgan was yawning every other minute. She ate two bites of pie and nearly face planted into the rest of it when she fell asleep. 

Peter loaded the dishwasher while Tony went to put Morgan down in her own room. “Out like a light,” Tony reported when he padded into the kitchen. “You want another piece of pie or anything?”

“No, thanks,” Peter said. Tony started putting the food away. “How are you? Scale of one to ten.”

“A four. Down from a nine earlier.”

Peter closed the dishwasher. “Is it okay if I go out for a bit, then? I want to try out the new suit and get some fresh air. I won’t be more than a couple of hours.”

Tony didn’t even blink. He almost looked like he’d expected it. “Be careful, all right? Call if you get into trouble.”

It was a rare moment of their old dynamic exerting itself. Not for the first time, Peter had a moment of pure, painful longing. He knew that May and Clarissa weren’t wrong––he _was_ still a kid, and he missed feeling as safe and secure as he had today when May had held him. Tony used to make him feel like that. But moments like this one, especially at the end of a very hard day, were painful reminders that that wasn’t the case anymore. 

Peter breathed through it. “I will,” he promised, and went to put on his new suit and slip out the window. 

The new suit was a dream. It was even more intuitive than the Iron Spider suit, and way more Peter’s style. As much as he loved his Iron Spider suit, it wasn’t really _him_. Spiderman had never been about firepower so much as speed and agility, and the new suit was _all_ about speed and agility. Plus, the vibranium web shooters were awesome. 

The minute he landed in Queens, after swinging across the Queensboro Bridge, Peter sent Tony a text: _Suit is amazing. Thank you!_

The response came within a minute or two. _You’re welcome, Pete. Stay safe._

It was the simplest response imaginable, but it warmed Peter all the way through. Tony _was_ taking care of him, Peter realized, even if it wasn’t quite the way Peter wanted. He was always thinking about ways to keep Peter safe when he was out as Spiderman. That hadn’t changed. 

Peter’s old neighborhood hadn’t changed much, either. Swinging around it helped the inside of his head more than he’d expected. There wasn’t a lot going on; even the criminals seemed to take Christmas off. But it had been a long time since Peter had had the chance to feel the rhythmic freedom of webswinging. _Soar, fall, catch. Soar, fall, catch._ Simple. Easy. 

He was tempted to go check out his and May’s old apartment, but there was nothing for him there; she’d moved out of it years ago. Instead he swung a different familiar route and landed on Ned’s fire escape. It was only a little after ten, and Peter hoped that he might be up. 

Sure enough, Ned was sitting in his bed, messing around on his phone. Peter tapped lightly on the glass. Ned jumped and looked up, and his eyes widened. He lunged for the window and yanked it open. “Hey!” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder toward his closed door. “Peter!”

Peter pulled his mask off and slipped through. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d swing by. Merry Christmas.”

“Uh, yeah, Merry Christmas.” Ned fell back on the bed, and Peter claimed the desk chair. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be upstate.”

“We came down for the holiday,” Peter said, pulling one knee up to hug it. “Sorry I didn’t call. Sorry I _haven’t_ called. It’s been... well, it’s been a lot.”

“Yeah,” Ned said, looking sad. “Here, too, kind of. I mean. My mom and my brother didn’t get snapped, and my dad and I are pretty lucky because they were still living here and my mom didn’t get remarried or anything, but they’re... really different. How are Tony and... what’s his kid’s name?”

“Morgan,” Peter said, and couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “She’s pretty cool. I’ll have to introduce you sometime. Tony’s... okay. We’re dealing.”

Ned nodded. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

Peter hesitated. “Parts of it,” he decided on. “Some of the day was kind of rough. Tony did okay in the morning, but at some point he just kind of left, and then Morgan freaked out because she thought he wasn’t coming back. He did come back, but it took him a while.”

Ned frowned. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Kind of. He doesn’t like to be around Morgan when he’s really sad. And he’s really sad a lot. Not as much as in the beginning, but––well, you know how it is. Like, at first everyone is really understanding and sympathetic, but then life gets back to normal for everyone but you.” Peter shrugged. “But enough about that. How’re you? How’s MJ? Is Flash still a jerk?”

“MJ’s okay. Her mom got snapped and her stepdad didn’t, and now they’re getting a divorce. Which actually I think she’s pretty happy about.”

“Yeah, she never liked him.”

“Flash is still Flash. Really wish he hadn’t been snapped. He’d be in college now.”

There was an underlying layer of something kind of bitter and dark in Ned’s voice. Peter frowned at him. “Is he giving you a hard time?”

“I mean, always,” Ned replied with a strained smile. 

“Oh,” Peter said. He was suddenly able to imagine how much worse it probably was for Ned without Peter there. Flash had given them both a hard time, but at least they’d had each other. “I’m sorry.”

Ned shrugged. “I can handle Flash. I just miss you, you know?”

“I miss you, too,” Peter said, looking down at his hands. “I know I’ve been kind of AWOL. The stuff with Tony and Morgan is... it’s really hard. And it’s really important. But I think maybe I’m going to try and come down to the city more often. I know May wants to see me more. I’ve been so focused on trying to help them that I kind of haven’t had the bandwidth to think about anyone else, and that’s not fair to you. Besides, Morgan gave me the super nice Millennium Falcon Lego set for Christmas, and I can’t put it together alone.”

“Wow, really? The expensive one?”

“Yep. And May got me passes to the Hayden and the Natural History Museum, one for each of us. We have to go and take Morgan sometime soon.”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome!” Ned said, brightening. “Anytime, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling at his oldest and best friend. “I do.”

He felt much better by the time he left Ned’s apartment, after eating a third Christmas dinner of pineapple ham and pancit that Ned smuggled up to his room for them. He swung back toward the bridge, then caught one of the above ground trains that was heading into Manhattan, feeling sleepy and satisfied. 

It was a little after one in the morning when he got home. He let himself into his bedroom and shed his suit, exchanging it for pajamas. He crept out for a glass of water, and on his way to the kitchen, peeked into Morgan’s room. She was asleep and, for now, exactly where she should be, though Peter doubted that would last until morning. 

He peeked into Tony’s room, too, just in case, and found him asleep as well. He had his phone face down on his chest, hand resting over it protectively. Peter was pretty sure it was so that he wouldn’t miss Peter’s call for help if it came. 

He was about to close Tony’s door when Tony stirred. “Pete?” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m back.”

“Oh, good. C’mere,” Tony said, extending his arm toward Peter. Peter stepped toward the bed and let Tony tug him down, so he was sitting on its edge. “How was it?”

“Quiet. The suit’s great, though. It felt good to be out in it. I went and saw Ned.”

Tony pushed himself up. “Oh yeah? How is he?”

“All right, I guess. I told him we have to take Morgan to the planetarium soon.”

“She’ll love that.” 

“Yeah.” Peter yawned suddenly. His jaw popped. “Jeez. I guess it’s time for bed.”

“You earned it.” Tony reached out and snagged Peter’s hand, squeezing it. “Love you, Pete. Merry Christmas.”

“Love you too, Tony,” Peter said, smiling with a lump in his throat. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Sleep in. I’ll keep the bug occupied.”

Peter nodded. He slipped back out and shut the door quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. <3 <3 <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for a beta reading!

They drove back to the lake house on the twenty-ninth.

Leaving the city was harder than Peter had expected. After Christmas Day, things felt normal between him and May again. He slept in his room in her apartment a couple of nights, and even had Ned over for one of them. It didn’t feel the same-–his family was so much bigger now than it had been, even before Ben died––but for once it felt like a _good_ kind of different. 

When it finally came time to get in the car and drive back, Peter didn’t want to. He almost asked Tony at the last minute if they could stay another day or two, maybe through the new year. But he had the feeling that if he did, Tony would take it the wrong way. He’d try and convince Peter to stay in the city without him and Morgan, and that wasn’t what Peter wanted. Besides, he and Morgan both had sessions with Clarissa scheduled for the next day.

In the end, Peter hugged May good-bye, promised to call every day and visit in the near future, and got in the car. Morgan was sniffling and teary from saying good-bye to May and Happy, so Peter did his best not to be. 

None of them, not even Morgan, said a word until they’d crossed the GW. Then Tony asked, “You okay, Pete?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, leaned his head back and looking out the window. “Just tired.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. He dozed off on the way home, waking up only because Morgan kicked the back of his seat. They picked up pizza for dinner on their way through the town nearest to the house, and by the time they pulled into the driveway, Peter was almost ready to fall asleep again. He woke up enough to help unpack the car and eat enough pizza to satisfy Tony, but he found himself yawning over the sink as he did the dishes while Tony put Morgan to bed upstairs. 

Tony came back downstairs just as Peter was putting the remains of the pizza away in the fridge. He didn’t come into the kitchen, and Peter expected to hear the front door open and close as Tony headed out to the garage. But instead Tony sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV. 

Peter closed the fridge door and went into the living room. Tony was flipping through the streaming offerings. “What are you doing?” Peter asked, stopping to stare at him. 

“I was thinking we could watch a movie,” Tony said. “Or something. Does your British baking show have a holiday episode?”

Peter blinked in bewilderment. “I don’t know. Um. You really want to watch a movie?”

“I have been known to do that from time to time.”

“Not lately,” Peter said, maybe too bluntly. “Not without Morgan.”

Tony sighed, eyes softening. “I know, kid. But I’d like to watch a movie with you tonight, if you didn’t have other plans.”

Peter’s plans had mostly involved his bed, but if Tony really wanted to watch a movie together, he wasn’t going to say no. He sat down on the sofa and nodded when Tony paused questioningly on _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Tony stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, and Peter leaned into Tony’s side without quite meaning to. Tony curled his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter relaxed, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

He dozed off somewhere between the Shire and Rivendell and woke up in the Mines of Moria. He tried to keep his eyes open, but it felt like he blinked and Sam was wading into the water after Frodo. 

“Dammit, I missed the whole movie,” Peter mumbled, rubbing his eyes. His head ached. He glanced up at Tony and was surprised to see Tony with tears in his eyes. “Tony?”

Tony gave a brief laugh and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, sorry. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just...” He sighed. “It just struck me that the last six months––God, they’ve been awful, and you’ve been there every step of the way. You followed me into hell when you didn’t have to, and even on the worst days, you’ve refused to leave me alone there.”

Peter blinked in confusion, then suddenly got it. “Sam to your Frodo?”

“Yeah. And I know you chose it, I know it was your decision, but I feel like it’s been unfair to you. And I _know_ it’s been difficult for you.”

Peter decided there was no point in arguing with that. “It has been,” he admitted, leaning against Tony’s side until Tony put an arm around his shoulders again. “I’ve... missed you. And I’ve missed how things used to be.”

“What do you miss?” Tony asked. 

Peter wondered how honest he should be. He didn’t want Tony to feel any worse than he already did––but on the other hand, Tony was asking him. He wanted to know. “I miss building things together,” he finally admitted, trying not to let his voice wobble. “I know––I know the garage is your space, but I miss it. I miss building things that aren’t Legos.” He sniffed. “It’s not a big deal. I just miss it.”

Tony gave a deep sigh. “It is a big deal, Pete. If I suddenly couldn’t build things, it would depress the hell out of me. We’re going to fix this, I promise.”

Peter looked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes, kid, really.” Tony wrapped his arms around Peter and leaned back, pulling Peter with him. “I’ve missed working with you, too.”

Peter couldn’t help the little bit of pride that kindled at that. “You have?” 

“I have. You were always my favorite lab partner.” Tony gave him a brief squeeze. “We’re going to build some stuff together in the new year. I’ll teach you how to fix your new suit.”

“That’d be great.” Peter swallowed. “We were building a car before I got snapped...”

“Oh my God, I’d almost forgotten about that. Yeah, we can make that happen.” Tony rested his chin on top of Peter’s head. Peter had to blink tears out of his eyes, too overwhelmed to speak. Tony ruffled Peter’s hair gently, and Peter leaned into it, wishing Tony might stroke his hair. Tony gave a brief laugh and actually did, massaging Peter’s scalp gently with the pads of his fingers. “You’re like a cat.”

“My head hurts,” Peter admitted, wincing. “Do we have any of my painkillers?”

Tony frowned, knuckling gently up and down the back of Peter’s neck. Peter let his head fall forward. “I’m not sure we do, actually. You don’t usually get random headaches, do you?”

“No. I think I just need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.” Peter was so happy right where he was, but he really did need to go to bed. He dragged himself upright, yawning. Tony stood up, hauled Peter to his feet, and kept a hand on his shoulder as he guided him up the stairs. 

At the top, they paused, looking at each other. “This was nice,” Peter said. “Sorry I slept through it.”

“We’ll do it again,” Tony promised him. “Sleep tight, Pete.”

“Thanks, Tony. You, too.”

In his room, Peter changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth, then faceplanted onto the bed. He rolled himself up in his comforter and fell asleep as though he’d stepped off a cliff. 

He knew something was wrong as soon as he woke up the next morning. Sleep-muddled and confused, it took him a few seconds to realize what it was. He groaned. 

Morgan had crawled in bed with him in the middle of the night. Peter tried to move, just to get a little space, and couldn’t even do that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so weak. “FRIDAY,” he croaked. 

“Your temperature is 102.9, Peter,” she said helpfully. “Boss is in the garage. Would you like me to get him for you?”

“Yes, please,” Peter managed. 

Peter hoped it wasn’t a bad day for Tony, because it was going to suck for Peter himself. His head was pounding, his entire body ached, he felt nauseous and weak and chilled. He didn’t think he was going to be able to take care of himself very well today, much less Morgan. 

It wasn’t more than a minute or two before Peter heard Tony come into the house and up the stairs. “Hey, Pete,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “FRIDAY said you needed me?”

“I think I have the flu,” Peter said hoarsely. “Can you take Morgan?”

“Yeah, I got her,” Tony said, and lifted her carefully off the bed. She didn’t stir as Tony carried back to her own room. 

Peter sat up slowly. The room spun. He slumped on the edge of the bed and tried to will himself into standing. He needed to use the bathroom and get some water. 

Tony returned before he could manage it on his own. He helped Peter drag his chilled, shaky body to the bathroom and back again, and then he went to get him a ginger ale from the kitchen. Peter stared listlessly out the window at the slate gray sky outside while he waited for Tony to come back. What an absolutely shit way to start the new year. 

“Drink some of this,” Tony said, returning with a glass of ginger ale. He sat on the edge of Peter’s bed and helped Peter shift up enough to drink without spilling. He pressed the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead and winced. “You’re really warm.”

“I feel so gross,” Peter grumbled. “Didn’t think I could even get sick.”

“I’ll call Bruce and see what he says.” Tony went into the bathroom and came back with a wet washcloth. He wiped Peter’s face gently with it, then folded it in thirds and draped it over Peter’s forehead. 

It was such a dad thing to do. Tears sprang to Peter’s eyes. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Tony asked, frowning. 

“Nothing,” Peter said, turning his face away. “Just... not feeling well.”

Tony’s face softened. “I know, kiddo. Try to go back to sleep for a bit, all right? When you wake up, we’ll call May and you can talk to her.”

Peter nodded. Tony stood up. Peter started to close his eyes, then dragged them open. “Tony,” he mumbled, “Clarissa’s coming today. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Tony said, pausing in the doorway. “Get some rest, Pete.”

Tony left, pulling the door shut behind him. Peter had the sudden urge to call him back and ask him to sit with him until he fell asleep again. It was so strong that the tears that had been threatening ever since Tony had put the cold cloth on his head spilled over, and he started to cry. 

“Peter?” FRIDAY said from Peter’s watch. “Do you need Mr. Stark?”

Peter tried to say no, but he couldn’t even get the word out. He just sobbed harder. 

Seconds later, the door to his bedroom opened back up, and Tony stuck his head in. “Pete? Oh, shit, what’s wrong?”

Peter shook his head. “M-morgan,” he managed. 

Tony sat on the edge of Peter’s bed. “She’s still asleep. C’mon, kid, tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter shook his head again. Tony used the damp cloth to wipe his face, then pressed it against the side of his neck. “You’re okay, kiddo,” Tony said, in a gentle voice Peter had heard him use almost exclusively with Morgan. “I know this sucks, but you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter drew a hitching, hiccuping breath. “Promise?”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. “Pete. Dammit. This is about Christmas, isn’t it?”

It was and it wasn’t. Peter didn’t know how to say that Christmas was hardly the first time he’d felt like Tony wasn’t there when he needed him. But it had maybe been the worst. Peter had been afraid, despite knowing that Tony’s vitals were fine, despite knowing he was less than a mile away. He’d quashed his own fears, though, because Morgan had needed him.

Tony kept stroking his hair back and gently pressing the washcloth against his face. “Don’t go,” Peter mumbled. “Please.”

“I won’t, kid, I promise. Here, let’s move you over a little.” He helped Peter shift over, then sat on the bed, kicking his shoes off so he could put his feet up. Peter pressed his face into Tony’s side, and Tony wrapped his arms around him, letting out a long sigh. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Tony said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about... well, about everything, ever since it happened. Rhodey and Bruce and May and even Happy had things to say to me about it.”

Peter managed to lift his head in indignation. “I told May not to yell at you.”

“She didn’t yell at me,” Tony said, guiding Peter’s head back down. “She did remind me that you’re sixteen with survivor’s guilt and a hero-complex the size of Manhattan, and that it’s my job to be the adult, even on really shitty days. I needed someone to say that to me.” 

Peter wanted to argue. It wasn’t Tony’s fault; Peter understood that grief was overwhelming sometimes, and he _wanted_ to be there for Tony and Morgan, he’d signed up for that––but right then he couldn’t. He was so tired. And he just wanted Tony to be _Tony_ for a little while, and let him be Peter. The way they used to be––though not really, because Tony had never held him like this before the snap. 

Peter closed his eyes, breathing in Tony’s familiar smell. He didn’t wear expensive cologne anymore, but he smelled of motor oil and organic laundry soap and maybe a little like he needed a shower. Despite everything, it still made Peter feel safe and taken care of. He fell asleep burrowed into Tony’s side, with Tony running his fingers through his hair. 

Peter was alone when he woke, but he knew right away that the house wasn’t empty. He could hear Clarissa and Morgan in Morgan’s room, probably playing with fingerpaints while Morgan had her session. They were talking about Christmas.

“Do you remember how it felt when you realized your dad wasn’t there?”

“Ummmm.” Morgan paused. “Sick in my stomach. Like I was gonna throw up.”

“Sometimes feelings can make us feel sick. If we’re really scared or sad or even if we’re really angry. Do you know how you felt?”

“Sad and scared, I guess...”

“Can you tell me what you were scared of?”

“Daddy left. Like––like Mommy.”

“You were afraid that your dad maybe wasn’t going to come back?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a big fear. Do you think about that a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you ever have dreams where your dad has left? Or where Peter has left?”

“Yeah... I can’t find them. I look and I look but they’re not there.”

“I have dreams like that, too, sometimes. Can you tell me about the last one that you had?”

Peter closed his eyes and did his best to stop eavesdropping on Morgan’s session. Even though he and Tony usually talked to Clarissa afterward, it felt different to listen in. And it only confirmed what he’d already thought, which was that what had happened at Christmas had freaked Morgan out way more than she was letting on. It couldn’t happen again, Peter thought––an utterly useless pledge when he was lying flat on his back with no way to do anything about it. 

He dozed until he heard Morgan thump down the stairs. He expected to hear Clarissa follow her, but instead there was a light knock on Peter’s door, which was cracked open. “Peter?” Clarissa said, sticking her head in. 

“Hey,” Peter croaked. “Don’t come in, I’m toxic.”

“I got my flu shot.” Clarissa pushed the door open but stayed in the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb. “I know you’re not feeling up to a session, but I wanted to check in with you after hearing what happened over Christmas. That sounds like it was very hard.”

“It wasn’t great,” Peter admitted. “Morgan was really upset.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t the only one.”

Peter shrugged, looking away. “I was... it was... it sucked,” he finally settled on, too tired to try and sort through the jumble of emotions. “You think Morgan’s okay?”

“Kids are resilient,” Clarissa said. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject to Morgan. We’re going to spend some time on this when you’re feeling better.”

“Great,” Peter said wryly. “Something to look forward to.”

Clarissa’s lips twitched. “Feel better, Peter, and have a happy new year. I’ll see you next week.”

“Happy New Year,” Peter replied, lifting one hand weakly. 

Clarissa headed downstairs. Peter heard her pause and talk to Tony, though his congestion was so bad that he couldn’t actually make out what they were saying. Probably for the best, even if he was curious what Clarissa would say to Tony about Christmas. He closed his eyes and let himself fade out. 

He faded back in to the sound of Tony’s voice. “...let me see if he’s awake. Pete? May’s on the phone. You think you can talk?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, starting to reach a hand out from beneath the covers. 

“Hang on.” Tony put his phone on speaker and set it on Peter’s chest. “There you go.” He started to leave, but Peter reached out and snagged his hand, tugging on it until Tony sat down on the edge of Peter’s bed. 

“Thanks, Tony,” May’s voice said from the phone. “Peter, honey, how’re you feeling?”

“Bad.” 

“Worse than strep in fifth grade?”

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed, wincing. “Didn’t know you could feel this bad from the flu.”

May made a sympathetic noise. “We forget sometimes how serious the flu can be. People end up in the hospital every year from it. A lot of people, in fact. You staying hydrated?”

“Yeah.” Peter looked at Tony, hoping he would elaborate so Peter wouldn’t have to. 

“He had a bottle of Gatorade earlier,” Tony said. “I was going to pour another one down him right now.”

“Electrolytes are good. Are you eating?”

“Crackers.”

“Try some toast and applesauce for dinner. Or Jell-O. Tony, do you have raspberry Jell-O?”

“I’ll have to look, but probably,” Tony said. “Morgan and I can make it. She’d like that. She’s been anxious all day because she’s worried about Peter.”

“That’s sweet,” May said. “And you’re... around?”

There was an awful lot of significance in May’s voice. Peter looked up at Tony just in time to catch a wince crossing his face. 

“Definitely around,” he said. “One hundred percent present and accounted for.”

“Good. My break is almost up. I love you, Peter. I’ll call after my shift ends, all right?”

“Love you, too.” 

May disconnected. Tony sat for a few seconds, staring at nothing, until Peter squeezed his hand. Tony shot him a vague smile. “Gatorade?”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Tong went downstairs, and Peter closed his eyes, because keeping them open felt like too much work. After a few seconds, he realized he was being watched. He opened his eyes and saw Morgan, peering around the half-closed door, staring at him. Peter managed a smile and a wave for her. “Hi, Mo-Mo. Don’t come in. Don’t want you to get this. S’super gross.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Daddy told Uncle Bruce on the phone that you were really sick. You’re not going to _die_, are you?”

Jeez. Poor kid. “No, Mo-Mo. ‘m just not feeling well. Like when your ears hurt.”

She bit her lip. “Do you want a stuffy to help you feel better?”

“I’d love one, kiddo, thanks. And later you can help Dad make Jell-O for me.”

Morgan visibly perked up. “I like Jell-O, too. Do you want Kitty or Spot?”

Peter did a quick calculation on which one would be easier to send through the washing machine for decontamination when this was all over. “Kitty.”

Morgan ran off. When Tony came in a few minutes later, he had Peter’s Gatorade and Morgan’s stuffed otter—who was confusingly named Kitty—with him. “I come bearing gifts,” Tony said, tucking Kitty in next to Peter. “Morgan said you wanted Jell-O.”

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed, wincing. “My throat hurts. Thought it’d be easier than toast.”

“You got it.” Tony pressed the backs of his fingers to Peter’s forehead. “You okay for a little bit? Want to watch something?”

Peter shook his head, then winced again. “Just gonna sleep.”

“Okay.” Tony kissed him on the forehead. “We’re nearby.”

Peter nodded. He closed his eyes. 

The next time he woke, it was because Tony was shaking his shoulder. Peter grumbled and tried weakly to fend him off, but Tony was persistent. “You’ve been out about six hours, you’re starting to get dehydrated and your blood sugar is low,” Tony said. 

“Feel like... hot garbage,” Peter muttered as Tony sat him up against his shoulder. “Morgan?”

“Watching _Brave_. FRIDAY has an eye on her.”

“Your fault if she wants a bow and arrow for her birthday,” Peter said. Tony held a bottle of Gatorade to his lips, and Peter sipped. He had to admit, it did feel good on his throat.

“I’ll take responsibility for that,” Tony said. “You want your Jell-O? Morgan helped, but I’m pretty sure it’s still edible.”

Peter didn’t want anything, really, but he nodded. The bowl only had a small amount in it anyway. He ate it slowly and thought about lying on the sofa in Ben and May’s apartment, watching May stirring the packet into the boiling water on the stove. Remembered feeling sick but safe. 

When the bowl was empty, Tony set it aside. “You want me to leave you alone to sleep or do you want me to stay?” 

“You should get back to Morgan,” Peter said, even as he hooked his fingers into the cuff of Tony’s sweatshirt. 

“FRIDAY, how’s Morgan?” Tony said, by way of response.

“Morgan is still watching _Brave_, though she is also working on an art project that she has asked I not describe, as it is a surprise for Peter. All vital signs are well within her normal range.”

“See? She’s fine on her own for a few minutes. Mostly she’s pissed I won’t let her in to see you.”

“Don’t. Don’t want her to get this.”

“I’m doing my best. She’s already been exposed, though.”

Peter let his head rest against Tony’s collarbone. “Chewable vitamins in the bathroom. Orange juice. With pulp.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tony said. “I realize I’ve been in a fugue state these last few months, but I do remember some things. She’s fine, I promise. A little clingy.”

“Had a tough session with Clarissa.”

“I heard.” 

Peter squinted up at him. Something was off. “One to ten?”

Tony shook his head. “Not right now, kid. You just rest, all right? I promise you that Morgan and I are fine.”

Peter didn’t believe him, but he recognized that even if it weren’t true, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He relaxed against Tony and tried to shut off the part of his brain that had been making constant calculations about Tony and Morgan for the last eight months. Morgan was safe and occupied; Tony was right here, not having a breakdown out in the garage. It was okay to take a break. 

Even if it hadn’t been, Peter had to admit to himself, he didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice in the matter. 

Shortly after, the Jell-O made an unfortunate reappearance. As things to barf up went, Peter supposed that Jell-O and Gatorade weren’t that bad, but it still sucked. Even though Tony barely batted an eye. “Dad powers,” Tony said simply, when Peter tried to tell him he was perfectly capable of puking on his own. “Also, a misspent youth. You’re stuck with me, kid.”

It was not fun, and it didn’t get much better over the next day and a half. Zero stars, would absolutely _not_ recommend. Peter hadn’t known he could get this sick anymore, and it was not a welcome revelation. Especially since it turned out that getting his brain to shut up was easier said than done. Whenever he woke, the first thing he did was listen to figure out where Morgan was and if she was okay. The second thing he did was listen for Tony. 

What he would have done if either of them hadn’t been okay was unclear, since Peter was too sick to hold his own head up, much less get out of bed on his own. But Morgan was always fine––either in her room playing or downstairs watching TV or sometimes in the kitchen with Tony––and Tony was always in the house. It was obvious to Peter that his usual level of vigilance wasn’t necessary, but even knowing that, he couldn’t just turn it off. 

Things got a little better when Bruce brought Peter’s painkillers from the compound. Peter was still exhausted and feverish and flattened, but his head and his throat didn't hurt so much. He fell asleep more easily and slept better, with fewer anxiety-riddled fever dreams. 

The afternoon of the thirty-first, Peter fell asleep right after lunch. When he woke, it was clear he’d been asleep for a long time; his room was dark, and he was alone. Peter stirred, feeling weak and shaky but with it in a way he hadn’t felt in almost two days. “FRIDAY?” he croaked out. 

“It is 10:26pm on December 31st,” FRIDAY replied. 

He hadn’t missed New Year’s. Not quite. “Tony and Morgan?”

“Morgan is asleep. Mr. Stark is in the living room.”

“Okay.” Peter sat up slowly, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head spun, but his legs held when he stood up, clinging to his bed post. He used the bathroom successfully by himself for the first time in way too long, then shrugged into his bathrobe and shuffled out. 

He half-expected FRIDAY to snitch on him by the time by the time he got to the stairs, but she hadn’t, apparently, because no Tony appeared to usher him back to bed. Peter kept a firm grip on the railing as he navigated the steps, and he reached the bottom without incident. He turned the corner so he could see the living room and the back of Tony’s head. 

It said something about the last eight months that Peter knew without having to see Tony’s face that he’d interrupted him in the middle of the sort of grief Tony usually reserved for the garage, where no one could see him. Peter hesitated, but the truth was that he didn’t think retreated was an option, now that he was downstairs. His legs were feeling pretty shaky. 

“Tony?” he ventured, keeping one hand on the wall. 

Tony turned. His face was pale and drawn and his eyes were red. “Pete! What are you doing up?”

“I’m okay,” Peter tried to assure him as Tony got up and hurried over to help him to the sofa. “I was feeling better, and it was so close to midnight. Are you okay?”

Tony didn’t answer as he got Peter settled on the sofa and tucked under one of the thick throws they kept on the back of the couch. Peter put up with Tony’s fussing, but when he started to leave under the pretense of making tea, Peter caught him by the hand and tugged him back to sit on the couch. Tony sat, letting his shoulders slump and his head hang. 

Peter squeezed his hand. “One to ten.”

Tony drew a shaky breath. “An eight? It’s... New Year’s. It was kind of our holiday, hers and mine. We used to throw a big party every year.”

“I know,” Peter said, settling his head on Tony’s shoulder. “May and I went last––well. I guess it wasn’t last year. Six years ago now.”

Tony smiled weakly. “That was a good night. I’m pretty sure that’s when Happy and May got started.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Peter groaned. “I’m nauseous enough as it is.”

Tony frowned. “Should you be out of bed?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Why didn’t you say something about New Year’s?”

Tony let out a long sigh. “This is going to sound crazy, but I didn’t see it coming. Christmas was such a clusterfuck, and I just didn’t think... And by the time I realized it, you were sick.”

“’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, kid, jeez. I’ve been so worried about you.” Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “Do you want something to eat or drink or? You should have fluids.”

“I’ll have some ginger ale if there’s any left.” 

“Sure, of course. I had some more delivered yesterday.” Tony got up and this time, Peter let him. 

Tony returned with a glass of ginger ale. Peter accepted it, and Tony sat down next to him. Peter leaned heavily against Tony, until Tony put his arm around him again.

“This is nice,” Peter murmured. 

“Yeah.” Tony cleared his throat. “Want to watch TV?”

“Sure.” Peter wasn’t sure he was going to have much more success staying awake, but at least he’d give him something to doze to while they waited for midnight.

Peter ended up lying with his head on a cushion in Tony’s lap. Tony, to Peter’s surprise, turned the TV to coverage of Times Square, where a million people had turned out in spite of the freezing rain. 

Insane, all of them. Peter thought it might be fun to watch the ball drop from way up high, and maybe he would next year, but nothing looked worse to him than being on the ground in that massive press of people. 

“You sure you’re okay watching this?” Peter asked, looking up at Tony. 

“Yeah, it’s not... we never did that together,” Tony said, gesturing at the screen. “Pepper always said she’d rather walk across hot coals than go to Times Square at New Year’s. I don’t know if I’ll ever throw another New Year’s party, but this is okay. I know that probably doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense.” Peter yawned. “I think I agree with Pepper about Times Square.”

“I went once.”

“Ugh, _why_?” 

Tony snorted. “I was very young and very high. I can’t imagine doing it now.”

“I have such a hard time picturing you like that.”

“Would you like evidence? There is a lot of it.”

Peter smiled. “Nah, I believe you. I just... you’re such a _dad_.”

Tony chuckled, running his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

Peter felt the tips of his ears grow warm. He smiled. “Guilty as charged, I guess.”

They fell silent. Peter wasn’t really watching the TV. He’d let his eyes go unfocused while he listened to the steady beat of Tony’s heart. Tony was still stroking his hair, and Peter let himself relax into it. Morgan was asleep upstairs. Tony was having a rough night, but he was here, not isolating himself or running away. 

With just a couple minutes left, Tony went into the kitchen to pop open a bottle of fizzy apple cider and pour it into champagne glasses. Peter sat up, and the two of them leaned against each other as the clock ran out on the hardest year of Peter’s life. He thought about everything that had been lost in the last year, but also everything that had been gained; about how even in the worst moments, he was grateful for the fact that he was able to live through it at all, thanks to everyone who had fought to bring him back. 

In the aftermath of the snap, he’d made a promise––to himself, but also to Pepper––that he was going to take care of Morgan, make sure that she always felt loved and protected and safe. He was pretty sure he’d kept that promise, even when it’d been really hard. And in exchange, he’d been gifted, in some sense, Pepper’s family. He would never stop feeling grateful––and a little bit guilty, but mostly grateful––for that. 

When the ball finally dropped, Peter looked up and saw that Tony was crying, tear tracks shimmering on his face in the low light. He smiled shakily at Peter, though, and hugged him.

“Happy New Year, Peter,” Tony said into Peter’s ear. “Thanks for being here.”

“You, too,” Peter said, tightening his grip on Tony, trying to convey just how glad he was that Tony was here––here, in the world, alive, but also here, on the sofa, with Peter. From the slight hitch in Tony’s breath, Peter was pretty sure that Tony got it. 

They drank their cider. Peter let Tony help him up the stairs to bed. He was feeling a little woozy by the time they got to the top, and he didn’t protest when Tony put his arm around his shoulders and shepherded him into his bedroom. Peter used the bathroom and brushed his teeth––for the first time in like three days, _ugh_, the flu was the absolute worst––and came back to find Tony changing the sheets on his bed. 

“You didn’t have to...” Peter said, stumbling over to collapse in the chair by the window. 

“You did it for me,” Tony replied, tucking in the top sheet at the foot of the bed. 

“When did I... oh.” Peter wondered how he could have forgotten. He’d changed Tony’s sheets two days after Pepper’s funeral, when Rhodey had sent Peter in to convince Tony to get out of bed. “Um. I guess they were probably getting pretty gross. Thanks.”

“Of course, kid.” Tony flipped the comforter out over the sheets and leaned over to give the pillows a good plumping. “Okay, in you go.”

It was really nice to lie down in under clean sheets. It was even better when Tony brought him a glass of water from the bedroom and one of his painkillers. “You need anything else?” Tony asked, once Peter had drained the glass. 

“I’m okay,” Peter said, snuggling down into his blankets. “What about you? And don’t tell me not to worry,” he added, before Tony could answer reflexively. “I’m going to worry. It’s kind of just reflex at this point.”

Tony sighed. “It’s a hard night. But I’ll get through it.”

“Would company help?” Peter asked. Tony looked puzzled, and Peter patted the empty half of his bed. “Unless you’re worried about germs.”

“If I haven’t caught your Spiderplague by now, I probably won’t,” Tony said wryly. “You sure, kid? You need to get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’ll sleep better knowing you’re okay,” Peter said honestly. 

Tony waffled, but after a moment he nodded. He went to change into pajamas and brush his teeth in his own room. Peter heard him check on Morgan on his way back. She must have been sleeping soundly because he returned alone, with the blanket off his bed and his own pillow. He lay down on top of the covers, and Peter rolled onto his side to face him. Tony tucked his hand under his face and looked at him. 

Tony looked tired. He looked sad. He looked _old_, if Peter was honest, as though the last year had aged him. But for all of that, there was none of the sort of wild, untamed despair in his eyes that Peter had occasionally caught there over the last eight months. The kind that tended to drive him out to the garage in search of something, anything, that would stop the pain.

Peter sighed. “I’m gonna go to sleep,” he announced, shutting his eyes. “Happy New Year.”

Tony brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Happy New Year. Sleep tight, kiddo.”

Peter did. He slept long and hard and if he dreamed, he had no memory of it when he opened his eyes the next morning. 

It was later than Peter expected, nearly nine o’clock. Peter was alone, but the blanket Tony had brought from his room was still on the bed, scrunched down toward the foot. He could hear Tony and Morgan banging around in the kitchen, making pancakes, by the smell of it. 

For the first time in days, the smell of food didn’t turn Peter’s stomach. In fact, he was _starving._

He got up and put a bathrobe on over his pajamas, then shuffled out of his room and down the stairs. He kept one hand on the railing, just in case, but he didn’t feel nearly as woozy as he had the night before. 

In the kitchen, Tony was cooking, while Morgan sat on the counter, swinging her feet. “Peter!” she cried when she saw him. 

“Hey, Mo-Mo,” he said, giving her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. He tried to let go, but she wrapped all four limbs around Peter and leaned forward until he was forced to pick her up.

“I missed you _so much_,” she said dramatically. 

“I missed you, too,” Peter said. “I’m feeling a lot better, though.”

“Good enough for pancakes?” Tony asked. 

“I think so,” Peter replied. He set Morgan back on the counter and then hopped up next to her. She immediately snuggled into his side. He eyed Tony for a second; there was something different about him. Something _good_ different. “Did you sleep okay?” 

Tony smiled softly. “Yeah, actually,” he said, flipping a pancake. 

“Daddy had a dream about Mommy,” Morgan announced. 

Peter glanced at Tony. “You did?”

“I did,” Tony confirmed. “She told me––well, she had kind of a lot to say, but—”

“I’m going to school!” Morgan interjected. 

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Her parting shot, so to speak,” Tony said, “was that Morgan should be in school. And she’s right. So I think––well, if it’s okay with _all_ of us,” Tony glanced at Peter, “I think we should move down to the city, at least during the week. So you can both go to school, and we can be close to Happy and May.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He blinked at Tony, wondering if _he_ was the one dreaming. “Um. Really?”

“Yeah. If that’s what we all want. Morgan and I are on board. What do you think, Pete?” Tony set the plate of pancakes on the counter and looked at him. 

It took him a few seconds, but Peter finally managed to find his voice. “Yeah, I’m on board. That sounds great.”

Morgan cheered. Tony grinned. “Then it’s settled. Morgan, do you want one pancake or two?”

“Two! And bacon!”

“Two pancakes and bacon, coming up.” Tony made her up a plate and then sent her into the living room with instructions to put on a movie. 

Peter waited to say anything until he heard the TV turn on. “Are you okay?” he asked Tony. 

“Yeah,” Tony said. He handed Peter a plate with two pancakes. Peter waved off his offer of bacon out of an abundance of caution; his stomach felt okay, but considering he couldn’t even keep down Jell-O twenty-four hours ago, it was probably better to be safe than sorry. “I really am. I don’t know if it was my unconscious unloading on me or it was actually Pepper, but...” Tony drew a deep breath. “I told her that it should’ve been me. That she’d be so much better at this than I am. And she said, ‘That’s not the hand we were dealt. I wish I were there, but I’m not, so you have to show up for both of us. And if you don’t, I swear to God, I will come back and haunt you myself.’” Tony smiled wryly and shook his head. “And then she said, ‘Oh, and by the way––Morgan needs to be in school.’ And then I woke up.”

“Wow. That’s... wow.”

“That’s sort of what I thought.” Tony looked toward the living room, eyes growing distant. “I’m never going to stop wishing there’d been another way. But I think––I think I’m done being sorry that I was left behind.”

“Thank God,” Peter said, almost involuntarily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to––”

“Say that out loud?” Tony finished, picking up his own plate of pancakes. “It’s okay, kid. I know I’ve been a huge pain in the ass.”

“_Tony._”

“Fine. I know I’ve been hard to live with. Better?”

“Better,” Peter conceded. 

“I can’t promise I won’t be again, but it’ll be better for all of us to be in the city. I think Morgan’s been bored out of her mind and I haven’t even noticed.”

“She’s not––well, maybe she’s a little bored,” Peter admitted. “She should probably learn to get along with kids her own age. You, um, you think you’ll live at the penthouse?”

“That’s the plan, such as it is,” Tony said. “I’ve only been thinking about this for about three hours, but that seems to make the most sense. I figured you’d have your room at our place and your room at May’s, and you can just go back and forth however you want.”

“Oh,” Peter said, imagining that for the first time. Not having to choose. Getting to sleep in his bed at May’s place and feel like a kid again, getting to see Ned and go out as Spiderman, but still getting movies and Lego time with Morgan, and maybe even workshop time with Tony. “Really?”

“Really. We’ll still have this place, and we can come up on weekends and in the summer, but I think it’s time for us all to live in the world again.” Tony took a deep breath, looking determined. “I need to pay more attention to what’s happening at Stark Industries, make sure no one’s staged a coup. Pepper had good people, but you never know.” He glanced at Peter. “Maybe that’s something you could help me with.”

“Me?”

“You. If you’re interested in learning more about the company. A real internship. I always thought Pepper would be the one to teach you about the ins and outs of how to run the place, but, well—plans change.”

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly. “Um. I think you might have forgotten to tell me something.”

“What are you—oh.” Tony blinked. “Did I never—the company’s yours, Pete. I mean, not right now, but in a few years. When you’re ready. That was the plan before the snap. I guess I never told you.”

“You did not,” Peter said, trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“You can say no, of course—”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean—oh my God, Tony, are you—this is a lot for one morning,” Peter finished weakly. 

“Well, you know me,” Tony said with a self-deprecating smirk. “Go big or go home.”

“How about we go slow for now?” Peter suggested. “Let’s start by moving back to the city. We’ll take the rest one step at a time.”

Tony made a face. “Boring, but probably wise. Pepper would approve. All right, fine.”

“So,” Peter said, picking up his plate of pancakes again, “does this mean you’re going to find a therapist in the city?”

“You and Bruce are in cahoots on this, aren’t you?”

“Me, Bruce, Sam, Rhodey, May––not sure about Happy, but literally every other person who loves you and is over the age of five is in favor of you finding a therapist.”

“For that matter, Morgan probably is, too.” Tony sighed. “I know I should. I’ve known it for months. You want the truth?”

Peter, who had just stuffed a giant bite of pancakes into his mouth, gestured affirmatively with his fork. 

“The idea scares the hell out of me, and I’m not sure why.”

Peter swallowed. “Bruce said to me at Christmas that sometimes when we feel like we’re barely holding it together, any change starts to feel threatening. But this move is a pretty big change.”

“It is,” Tony said slowly. “And that’s not wrong, what Bruce told you. You really want me to, don’t you?”

“I do,” Peter said. “Clarissa has been so great for me and Morgan. And once we’re all in the city, you’ll have so many people who can help when things get rough. It won’t just be the three of us anymore.”

Tony reached out and cupped the back of Peter’s neck. “I didn’t hate it being the three of us.”

“Me neither,” Peter said, smiling at him as he set his plate aside. “It was really hard at times, but being a family with you and Morgan is pretty great. I’m glad I don’t have to give that up.”

“Never, kiddo,” Tony said, and folded him into a hug. Peter rested his head in the crook of Tony’s neck, closing his eyes.

“Daaaaaaaddyyyyyyy!” Morgan called from the living room. “You and Peter are missing the moooooovieeeee!”

Tony snorted a laugh. “Her Highness beckons.” 

“Guess we’d better follow then.” Peter slid off the counter. 

“You want more pancakes?”

“Not now. Maybe later.” Peter leaned into Tony’s side as they went into the living room. Tony sat down next to Morgan, who’d put on _Miracle on 34th St_, for one last grasp at Christmas. Peter snagged a blanket off the back of the couch and started to sit down on Morgan’s other side. But Tony snagged Peter’s hand and tugged him down on his opposite side. Tony wrapped an arm around each of them and pressed a kiss to the top of each of their heads. 

“What was that for?” Morgan demanded.

“Because I felt like it, that’s why.”

Morgan looked at Peter. “He’s being weird.”

Peter grinned. “Just go with it. Press play, Mo-Mo.”

Morgan pressed play. Peter leaned against Tony’s shoulder and let the movie wash over him, thinking about the future. There was a lot to do if they were going to move soon, and he’d have had to be stupid to think that everything was going to be sunshine and roses from here on out. There were still going to be bad days, and nothing would ever fill the Pepper-shaped hole in their lives, whether they were here or in the city. 

But Peter still had a feeling––a good feeling––about this decision. And maybe, just maybe, he dared to hope that this year would be, if not _great_, then at least pretty good. A pretty good year seemed like a reasonable goal to shoot for, and Peter suddenly thought that they just might make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to eringeosphere who called Peter getting sick back in Chapter 3. It's like y'all know me or something...
> 
> One more chapter that will be more of a coda.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Super busy workweek, but then I had a week on vacation with my family to do a bit of writing. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone who's coming along for this ride. I realize it was a bit bumpy at times. I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I think I only have one more square in the Irondad BINGO that I want to do now that this is done, and it's "Sleepy." Probably in the same universe as [Five Times Peter and Tony Had Each Other's Backs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185579/chapters/47828308). After that I might do some holiday-themed fic. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this especially recalcitrant story.

“PEEEETERRRRR! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!”

Peter rolled his eyes and cast MJ––video chatting him from her apartment in Queens––a long-suffering look. “Sorry,” he told her, then spun in his desk chair to call back to Morgan. “We’re not gonna be late, Mo-Mo!” 

The door to Peter’s bedroom burst open. “Yes, we are,” Morgan insisted, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. 

Peter sighed. She ran over to him, and he picked her up to settle on his lap. “Morgan, we’ve talked about this. When my door is closed, you can’t just come busting in. It’s rude. You interrupted my conversation with MJ. Can you apologize to her?”

“Sorry,” Morgan said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. MJ’s smile slipped. Morgan loved Ned but was a lot less friendly with MJ. At first, Peter had thought he was imagining it, but at this point it was obvious to everyone. MJ, of course, acted like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her, but Peter knew that was a front.

“I’d have thought you’d have figured it out,” May had said, when Peter had brought it up to her. “Morgan’s jealous.”

“But,” Peter had said, confused, “why?”

May gave him a look. “Why weren’t you overjoyed to hear about me and Happy?”

Peter flushed. “That’s different.”

“It’s not that different.” May tucked a strand of hair behind Peter’s ear. He could almost _see_ her thinking that he needed a haircut. “Morgan thinks of you as something between an older brother and a parent, and she’s used to having _all_ of your attention—to being your top priority at all times. It’s not weird for her to feel threatened when that suddenly isn’t the case anymore.”

“But that’s––I don’t––my relationship with MJ doesn’t change anything about my relationship with Morgan,” Peter said, frustrated. 

“It doesn’t mean that you love her any less,” May corrected gently, “but it _will_ change things. You might have less time for her. Sometimes MJ might come along on things that your and Morgan used to do one-on-one. She’s also five years old, and she’s been through a significant trauma recently. You’ve been there for her in a way that her own father wasn’t. Of course she’s afraid of losing you.”

Peter had to admit that May had a point. But he still wasn’t quite sure what to do about the situation. He’d explained things to MJ as best he could, and he was careful that if he was going to spend time with her, he also set aside time for Morgan. But he’d also started shutting his door when he talked to MJ, to avoid Morgan’s obnoxious and transparent––but undeniably effective––schemes to get his attention. 

Morgan did _not_ like Peter’s door being closed. Peter had never shut her out at the lake house. The first time he’d done it, she’d thrown a screaming fit. Peter had been bewildered at the reaction, but Clarissa hadn’t looked the least bit surprised when Peter brought it up to her in one of his sessions, which they now did largely over video-chat. 

“This is normal boundary-setting, Peter,” she’d said. “Morgan is going to school and making friends. You’ve got a girlfriend for the first time. There’s going to be a period of adjustment in your relationship. Just give it time and try to be patient with her.” 

Peter was trying, but it was way harder than he’d thought it would be. He’d started avoiding having MJ over to the penthouse at all. When they hung out, they mostly went to her place or did things around the city. It felt more like avoidance than actually solving the problem. 

Absolutely none of it was helped by Tony going on his first trip for Stark Industries since Pepper had died. He’d only been gone three days, but they had been a _long_ three days. None of them had wanted him to go, but apparently there’d been a situation brewing that Tony couldn’t ignore any longer, and it meant he had to go to London. 

“We’re going to be _late_,” Morgan insisted, craning her neck back to look up at Peter. 

“No, we’re not,” Peter said patiently. “Dad’s plane doesn’t land for two hours, and it only takes us an hour to get there.”

She heaved a sigh. 

“Are you looking forward to your dad getting back?” MJ asked, making a valiant effort. 

“Yeah,” Morgan said, in a tone that implied she thought MJ was an idiot for asking. Peter poked her and she squirmed. “He’s been gone for _days_.”

“We’ve had some fun, though, right?” Peter prompted. “We went to the museum and we worked on your robot with Ned.” It’d been a real challenge keeping Morgan distracted during Tony’s absence. And it still hadn’t really worked—there had been tears everyday, and she’d ended up in Peter’s bed two out of three nights because of nightmares. 

It was exactly what Clarissa had told them to expect, but that didn’t make it suck less, especially since Peter hadn’t loved having Tony gone either. Though judging by the number of texts and middle-of-the-night-in-London phone calls Peter had gotten, Tony’s separation anxiety might’ve been the worst out of any of theirs. 

“I guess,” Morgan mumbled. 

“It’s almost over,” Peter said, giving in and wrapping an arm around her. She snuggled in, smug now that she knew he wouldn’t be kicking her out. 

“And you’re staying with us tonight, right?” she asked, looking up at him. 

“Yep. We’re gonna have burgers for dinner, because that’s what Dad said he wanted, and we’re gonna watch movies.”

“That sounds like fun,” MJ said. “I’m supposed to make pasta for dinner. I was thinking of trying Tony’s carbonara. I watched him make it last time I was over. It didn’t look that hard.”

“Yeah, that’s good stuff,” Peter said. “Even I can make it.”

“Don’t give me that shi—stuff, Parker,” MJ said, wincing a little. “We both know you’re ten times the cook I am.”

“I want carbonara!” Morgan declared. 

“Well, we’re having burgers tonight. But I bet if you ask Dad nicely, he’ll make it tomorrow.”

Morgan nodded, apparently mollified. There was a brief, awkward silence, and then MJ said, “I guess I should go. Are we still on for tomorrow? Movie and my place?”

“Yep,” Peter said, smiling at her. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

They disconnected. Morgan heaved an enormous sigh. “_Now_ is it time to go get Daddy?”

“Not yet. We’ll just have to sit in the car if we leave now. Why don’t you go draw him a picture for when we pick him up?”

“About what?” 

“Maybe everything you and me and Happy and May did the last couple of days?” Peter suggested. 

“Okay,” she agreed, only a bit reluctantly, and slid off his lap to skip off to her room. 

Peter got up and went looking for Happy, who––theoretically––had been keeping an eye on Morgan. He found him in his office, working on the computer. Peter leaned against the doorjamb and cleared his throat. 

Happy glanced up. “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet. But Morgan thought it was, and she burst into my room and interrupted my call with MJ.”

“Oh,” Happy said. “Whoops.”

“Yeah, _whoops_,” Peter said wryly. He was pretty sure that Happy considered this karmic retribution for Peter’s wariness about him and May. “I get that you find this entire thing hilarious, but I don’t. Not sure how funny MJ finds it, either.”

“I would never find entertainment value in your pain, Peter,” Happy said, pressing a hand over his heart. 

“It’s not _my_ pain,” Peter replied, annoyed with Happy’s flippant attitude. “Like, I don’t care that much for me, I can deal with it, and you’re right, I probably do deserve some of it. But it really bothers MJ. So could you just––could you try to keep an eye on Morgan when you say you will?” 

Happy, to his credit, looked contrite. “I will. Sorry, Peter.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said peevishly, and left before he said anything really unfortunate. 

By the time they actually did have to leave, Peter had mostly managed to get over himself. He and Morgan both sat in back, where she chattered about the picture she’d drawn Tony and the new friend she’d made in her class at the private school Tony had managed to slip her into halfway through the school year. She was light years ahead of the others academically; socially, she was still learning how to interact with other kids. But after a bit of a rough start, things seemed to be going better. 

The ride to Teterboro was nearly an hour, and even Morgan ran out of steam eventually. Worn out by days of nightmares and not enough sleep, she eventually passed out in her booster seat. Peter tucked a blanket around her so she wouldn’t get cold. 

It was so hard to stay mad at her, he thought with a sigh. Especially when she was sleeping. 

Happy was glancing at them in the rearview mirror, Peter realized as he looked up. Peter felt himself flush. “What?” he asked. 

“You know she’s only a pain in your ass because she loves you so damn much.”

Peter sighed again. “Yeah. I do know.”

“You two will get through it. She’ll get used to sharing you with other people. And I bet Morgan comes around eventually––MJ has that same scary competence that Pepper did.”

Peter managed a smile. “Yeah. I hope you’re right.” 

“I know I am, kid. You just have to give it time and let them get to know each other.”

Peter hummed noncommittally. He guessed that Happy probably knew what he was talking about. It wasn’t really until they’d moved back to the city that Peter had come around on Happy and May––not that he’d disliked Happy or anything, it was just _weird_, especially with the five extra years that May had had to recover from losing Ben. He’d had to see the two of them on a daily basis to understand just how good Happy was for May, and at that point, holding onto any resentment had just felt dumb. 

Maybe he was making a mistake keeping Morgan and MJ separated, Peter thought. Maybe they needed to spend more time together, not less. Even if it was super awkward at first. 

Peter was still mulling things over when they got to the airport. Peter shook Morgan awake and offered her snacks and water. Happy showed his ID and they were allowed to drive out onto the tarmac and park. 

Once they were stopped, Peter let Morgan out of her booster seat. Tony’s plane had just landed––he’d texted Peter as soon as they touched down––but it was still taxiing. Morgan plastered herself up against the window, and Peter double-checked the locks because he was afraid she might bolt out before it was safe. 

But at last Tony’s plane pulled up, and they were given the all-clear to exit the car. At _last_ there was Tony, coming down the stairs. Peter let Morgan run to him first and grinned as Tony swung her up into the air, planting a big kiss on her forehead. Then he saw Peter, and his step quickened and his smile widened. Peter didn’t run to meet him, but it was close. 

The hug Tony gave him on the tarmac was almost worth the last three days. Tony pulled Peter close with his free arm and held him there without moving for at least ten seconds. Peter tucked himself close and wrapped _his_ free arm around Morgan, who reached out and grabbed hold of Peter’s sweatshirt. 

“Welcome home,” Peter said, looking up at Tony. 

“God, I’m so glad to be here, you have no idea,” Tony said with a sigh and a laugh. “Come on, kiddos, let’s get out of here. Thanks, Hap,” he added, as Happy swung Tony’s overnight bag into the trunk of the car. 

“How was the trip?” Peter asked once they were settled in the car, with all three of them on one seat together, with Tony in between them. 

“I don’t want to talk about the trip,” Tony said firmly. “It was fine––there was some minor corporate espionage in progress and now there isn’t, someone got arrested––you know, the usual. It was actually very boring. Pepper would’ve been furious. I’ll tell you later. I want to hear all about _your_ week.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, since absolutely nothing about that sounded boring. But Morgan pulled her picture for Tony out and started telling him about all the stuff they’d done during the three days he’d been gone. He let it go, figuring he could pick it up again later. 

Because Happy and May were saints, dinner was waiting for them when they got home. It was still hot, even. Happy reminded Tony of a meeting he had the next day and took the elevator down to May, leaving the three of them alone with their burgers and fries. Tony pulled out plates, while Peter poured seltzer for himself and Tony and milk for Morgan. 

Peter felt as though his entire body breathed a sigh of relief once they were all sitting around the table together. This was how it was supposed to be. He inhaled his first burger almost without stopping to breathe, and only realized then that his appetite had been almost nonexistent while Tony was gone. 

“Jeez, Pete, slow down. No one’s going to take it away from you,” Tony said, watching him with his eyebrows raised. 

Peter swallowed. “Sorry. I’m just really hungry.” He forced himself to take a break before burger #2, sipping at his seltzer and eating a few of his fries. 

“How was school this week?” Tony asked him, dragging a French fry through a pool of ketchup. “You ace that Spanish test?”

“I got an eighty-nine,” Peter said with a shrug. “And, uh, decathlon practice went pretty well. I’m still an alternate, but I think I’ll have my spot back in the fall.”

“Probably helps to have an ‘in’ with the captain,” Tony pointed out with a wink. 

“Ha,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “MJ’s actually being extra-strict to avoid even the appearance of favoritism. I think that if it’d been anyone other than me, they’d have their spot back by now.”

“How _is_ MJ?” Tony asked, as though it had just occurred to him to ask. 

“Fine. We’re seeing a movie tomorrow.” Peter glanced at Morgan, who was staring studiously at her food. He thought about what Happy had said about letting them get to know each other. “Maybe afterward she could come over here, and we could all have dinner.”

“That sounds great,” Tony said. “What do you think, Morguna?”

She sighed. “I guess.”

“You know, I think you’ll really like MJ if you get to know her,” Peter said, trying to sound enthusiastic but not desperate. “She’s really smart and funny, and she’s fun to hang out with. She’s not as good with computers as Ned is, but I bet she could still help us build your robot.”

Morgan didn’t answer, but she did make a face. 

“Morgan,” Tony said, with just the slightest bit of _Dad_ in his voice, “I think what your brother is trying to say is that it would mean a lot to him if you tried to get to know MJ. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “But...”

“But what?” Peter prompted. 

“Do you have to talk to her _all the time_?” Morgan whined. “You always have your door shut now.”

“I don’t always have it shut,” Peter started to object. 

“_Always_,” Morgan emphasized. 

Peter sighed. “I’ll leave it open if you don’t try to interrupt when you know I’m talking to her. Can you promise that?”

Morgan frowned. “What if it’s a ‘mergency?”

“You can interrupt if it’s an emergency—a _real_ emergency,” Peter clarified. “Not one you make up so you can come in. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she said, looking only a little mutinous. She frowned at her fries, which she always insisted on eating plain, and then looked up at Tony. “Can I have applesauce instead?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Tony said, and got up to get it for her. 

“Thank you, bugaboo,” Peter said quietly to her while Tony was gone. “I know this is hard.”

Her lower lip trembled slightly. “I miss the lake.”

He heard clear as day what she was really saying: she missed the way it had been when they’d lived at the lake house, when it had been just the three of them, all the time. And in a strange way, Peter was _glad_ she missed it. It meant that he’d done his job right. She had good memories from that time, despite everything. She’d felt loved and safe and protected, just like Peter had promised himself she would. 

“I miss it, too,” he told her. “We’ll go up there soon, all right? Just the three of us. I have a decathlon meet this weekend, but maybe next weekend we can go up. How’s that sound?”

She brightened. “Good!”

The idea of visiting the lake house was enough to put Morgan in a good mood. She ate the applesauce Tony came back with for her and the rest of her burger. After dinner she and Peter settled in the living room to work on her robot while Tony caught up on email. When Morgan’s bedtime rolled around, Tony took her into her room to put her to bed, and Peter curled up in a corner of the sofa with his physics textbook and his homework. 

He was about halfway done with it when Tony came back. He looked harried and slumped onto the sofa with a sigh. “Tough night?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah. Took two extra books _and_ she wanted me to sing to her.” Tony leaned his head back. “She said you mentioned visiting the lake house in a couple of weeks.”

Peter shrugged. “She said she misses it, and we haven’t been back since we moved. Seemed like a decent incentive for her to try and give MJ more of a chance.”

“Yeah, it’s a good idea. The weather will be getting nicer, too.” Tony closed his eyes. “God, I’m so tired. Three days isn’t long enough to adjust to the time difference, but it’s long enough to completely screw me up.”

“Go to bed, then. It’s after nine.”

“No, I want to watch a movie with you,” Tony said, a faint hint of a whine in his voice. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “What do think, kid? Dealer’s choice.”

“Why don’t we just watch an episode of something?” Peter suggested, figuring there was no way that Tony was going to last an entire movie. “_Brooklyn Nine-Nine_?”

“Sounds good.”

Peter cued an episode up while Tony went to get them both ice cream. They re-settled themselves in the center of the couch, leaning against each other. Peter spread one of the throws out so it covered both of them.

“Hey, so,” Peter said, just before pressing play. “You going to tell me the real story of what happened in London?”

“Tomorrow, kid,” Tony said with a yawn. “Too tired tonight. And it’s okay now. I took care of it.”

Peter decided to just trust him. “Okay,” he said, and started the episode. 

Tony passed out roughly five minutes after finishing his ice cream. His head lolled against Peter’s shoulder, and Peter checked to make sure he was covered by the throw blanket. It was warm in the apartment, but still. He didn’t want Tony to get chilled. 

He thought of Pepper, then. Thought of what he knew about her directly and what he knew of her from Tony and Morgan and Happy and May. Her kindness and her competence and her laugh. The way she could make Tony fall in line with a glance. Her red hair, her always impeccable manicure, her love of very expensive shoes. 

Grieving was never really over. And it wasn’t a straight line, either. But if it was true that grief was love with nowhere to go, then Peter thought they might all be finally finding their way—not out, but through. And even though Peter hadn’t known Pepper all that well himself, he knew her well enough to be sure that she’d be glad to see it. 

He rested his cheek against Tony’s hair and smiled. 

“Thanks, Pep,” he whispered. 

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments bring me lots of joy!


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